"155 

Baia 


PJI1CE25CENTS 

J  LIFE 


AND  LOVE 


By  BERTHA  M.jCLAY 

HEART  SERIES 


«<& 


i  V 


4§ 


tl      ■   * 


w^ 


i^..<: 


'■•'>•.'' 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 
^  in  2007  witii  funding  from 
^    IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.archive.org/details/forlifeloveOObramrich 


,<*  * 


^  '  '^^        ^1^'tx-/&^t.„£_,^^^^^. 


For  Life  and  Love 


3y 

Bertha  M.  Clay 

(Charlotte  M.  Braeme) 


CffiCAGO 


t^'OR  LIFE  AND  LCi 


CHAPTEK  L 


A  DTiA"W'rNO-noo>c  in  a  somber  house  in  a  jfloomy  London  street— 
iikably  tho  dm  wing-room  ot  a  lodgiKij-iiuuae.     A  <rirl  sitting 
.    .J  a  piano — an  Era  rd,  hired  by  the  racj" — ^       '■•>  ■■*•••  —■.'■'> 
i   t])e  dCvsk  l)efore  lier  and  yawuinL^  ■>iD 

■!  of  politi'nrsa  to  j'awn  when  there  is  h'.i  i< :  .  >  .: 

The  dr:uviii<!:-roo:u  is  the  drav.ui?^.i;r«om  of  j , 

■  I  is  myselfl    ,>'*..'      ii«  '    '»,/,',:. 

Scott,  and'  i'  have'  crme  u'p*  to'^lViMojI 

■  Iht  piii-jK;3c  oi  iiuviu^-  singin^r-lessoDS.  I  tsad  «  lesson  this  morn- 

-.  ;inn  1  !i;v(.«  rone  over  it  again  and  again  tili  i  am  tired  to  death 

•  both.     Bin  i  have  set  it  up  before  ine  nbw  with 

-ion  of  go  in  1^  over  it  once  more  before  it  cTOws  too 

■k  to  Boe,  To  thiit  end  1  play  the  prelude  through  conscieuliously, 
;  lit,,  1  i,i>  up  jny  voice  and  sing — 

•*Hf.  thinks  T  ,?<-.  t.nr.  love  liiraf 
fie  be'  ii  word  I  said; 

An'i  hf^  ■'.■  if  soirow 

}  •  lii.d  left;  its  bed. 

I'd  :  the  truth  this  niomingf. 

Oh.  inghlm 

Ob,  1  witoii— '■' 

•,  and  a  knock  vv^  '     ' 
'•  !?  throTiL'-h  the 

1 
i^^ed 

.  set.  her  down  here,  instead  (>  o  the  Jlol- 

"  in  Berkeley  Street.    1  he;  -  ^">  Olive, 

n  her  up  half  an  hour  ago.  i  such  s, 

■  •  '■'  'v>  in  this  dingy  room  1  '^  oncol 

my  promise  to  JJncK'  ylorth 

»  lue  SI  If; :.    \v  iij  i  ru'io  Tod  thinkn  it  qui  out 

the  mornin<?  tor  my  music-lesson,  ret  o,  ^r  I 
\  head  out  of  doorv«<  alone  in  ! 
I  suppose  );f  kfio-'AS.  or  ' 
I  do. 

D'*ancs'  Th-'for© 

is  this  Olive  J>enn«  n'  iw 

Olire  i:  >w  iiovv  lonely  1  :f;e 

>-0  #  c  iO 


4  FOR    LIFE    AK'D    LOVE. 

siur^td  Old  Icdf?fi!rr»?.  how  lon^  the  afternoons  and  the  evenings  £ 
tsl/  >'ml  a  tvelinj^  of  loueliutss,  wit Ii  that  great  lioase- 

lul  ......  listers  iu  Duxler  i^juaiv.     But  siic  migbl  ke<>p  a 

pro  a  she  makes  o«e,     1  ^hrf-i  ?^xold  her  wlieo  1  niL'et  he? 

ihe  sj:-  -5  to-moirow.  and  teU  her  she  doos  not  enibo^ijr  > 

idea  ot 

But,  u  iL  u  iiGt  Ollre,  vp'ho  i«  it?    Ilae  Ijaasoio  bi^s  driven  awuj, , 
btrt  tl>e  door  has  not  yet  befja  on/5ned;  and!  iiattyn  mj'  nose  against 
ti:e  glass  to  at-e  tbe  do«.>r.'-leps,*  which  are  partly  concetilod  by  the 
o;)ca  ironwork  ot  tlie  bivicouy.     A  ycuDi<  man  ia  skviidiii.<5  bclo^ 
Wsiitiu.p;,  patiently  or  hnpatieDtly— *Jie>  top  ot  hir.  round  telt  hu  ^'v: 
no  cl^.v  to  ?t:s  mood — uniil  Kucb  iirae  as  Mrs.  Wauchope's  mL;v.l 
all -work  shall  see  fit  to  aficeud  fFom  the  basement  Blory  to  C[ 
street-door. 

He  i*5  cominft  to  stay,  evidently,  for  he  carries  in  one  h&nd  a  black 
l^-uher  v-Jr-  ••  *  :  •  otjiet  what  looks  like  a  large  picture,  in  a  fc!;"-' 
of  >Gu^f  it  w  -'^  'Pi  himself  1  can  see  nothing  but  a  dari^  ov 

c/)iti  Vuid  (!•'!  ij.iaa  iM'slrejidy  meutioneil,  except  tbe  gloved  hn 
■wi:ic;]<  v,^(;*jH«?''^^iiis^.  hjs*ii^^ure,  as  visible  .from   my  stun;i-pni 

■'.iat>ji,*preaents  very  littte  beyond  the  felt  h{;£ 
.  ]  \^onderwho  he  is!  Scarcely  a  tradesman, 
thoj,!^u  ai  iirbi  i  hud  inncied  he  must  be  a  glazier,  with  his  toois  ia 
the  ihacfe  bag  and  hi8  pane  ot  glairs  in  the  wooden  case.  And  cer- 
tainly not  Mre,  TVauchope's  son,  lor  he  is  a  small  boy  of  eleven  a 
to  my  certain  knowledge  docs  not  wear  a  round  hat! 

He  maybe  related  to  ibe  two  ii:aideu  ladies v/hom  tbe  maid-of  : 
work  cabs  "  the  parlor?.,"  aj»  1  suppose  slie  calls  me  '*  the  drawii 
room  "  rj'hen  rclaiing  all  ebe  know^  of  ruy  aifairs  to  everj^body  e. 
1  Ciin  dK^iingid.sh  ihe  initiajs  "  G.  B."  painted  in  white  en  ; 
black  h'a{f;.  ''  Q.  B."  stands  for  nothing  that  I  can  tbink  of  on  : 
p.prir  ot  the  moment  but  "  Ginx's  Baby."  The  name  is  not  sa! 
f'icto.'-y,  nor  are  my  surmises  likely  to  lead  to  any  apprecinbie  reso 
k  k-i*ve  the  windusv  convinced  on  this  point,  just  as  Mary  A  nna  op-.. 
rii2  a.-or  and  admits  the  jstranger,  'vrithout  a  question  appaveiiil'.'-  • 
ce";iai.»;y  with  but  littl©  delay  in  closing  the  d;x>r  behind  him. 

1  ginuce  at  the  open  jiiiano.  but  I  cannot  bring  myselt  to  si: 
and  lioish  that  song.    1  iiad  been  longing  to  iearn  it;  Hie  t 
raved  about  it,  but  1  have  bad  enough  of  it.     It  was  nnkiij.' 
Olive  not  tocome-^we  could  have  bad  a  jileasant  chat  and  drunk 
—Mary  Anne  has  carritMi  up  the  tea- things,  tbe  tep 
uit,  hideous  dark  biiie  knitted  cozy  on  the  little  &v, 
iiiui  tlic  fjre.     I  do  not  care  to  drink  tea  all  tilone. 

1  wa'Kitr  away  trom  tjie  windovt^  and  round  the  room  aimless 
my  huu.is  c':;..;:.:.'!!  b&hind  me,  my  long  blue  gown  trailing  over  ; 
;  .  ''■      '■   i    f'li'.^v  old-fashioned  room  which  ia  **  rny  dolci... 

"  as  poor  Anuj  Boleyu  wrote  in  the  Tower' 
....  ..:.,     ..../Tears  ago.     Kot  tbnt  fliis  is.  the  sixth  ^^ 

is  the  &ixth  of  March,  and  dear  old  Uncle  Tod's  biii 
.    •       1  i':  I >>  seventy-two  ti)-day. 

.'iot  itmT  i  nm  in  prisrni  b<ue  either.     T^obody  v 

1  ce  9^  ill.     Il; 


VK. 

r-rv  m  11'  crTninjr  wp  ^o  toTro,  eve: 

XTf,, 


■  i    Oil..  -    '^ 

•  >uancs. 
■..,  jou  louii.  exactly  iuvc  jjit.  mwiuts  ~  "  "3 

i:e  is  staiidinjnj  in  t'  aj?,  v;;:!! 

ray  eaiulaii.'  j«ii  beer    ' 

ons' — mamma  wonW  tjot  let  me  off.  ^  T 

n  on  hrr  wsv  i-- ■"•'   '"'■'  m^'^  »'='■•  '■  ^--'i'^'- 
f-pj^Kt  five. 

;iilo  iny  ovru  iiummock-c  ;  take  oft  iic 

i-^.rr*  vnri  r  ;r*ont  !»»v>MJ!>*r,**  1  confer." 
now  t;: 

'  wasn't  :,  AUie;  nijimma  wc 

t  ...  :  tor  you — yoM're  to '- 

I y .     Won ' t  tliat  bt:  f  un 7 " 

■^- ■:  hpre,  Ohvel" 

•  one.  unloas  you  chocee  i 

,«^T^  3^Pf|  *1own  ^or  th*»  'iresa  J  ^rore  ht  the  Hatchells* 

t  be  bliocked  when 
-vorld.'- 
,3  on  Friday.  havan*t  Ixh;: 

.     ,     .     -Tvn." 

wliut  Auol  KoBa  will  say.    1  came  op  to  tov. 

■  a  word  irlien  mamma  is  clmperocing:  you.     It  i 
:   -T, — only  a  nice  link  carp"*  '*""' 
.t  nine.'' 

1     .U    11,  ' 

.  your  A 
I  jegultir*>  '  come  GUI,'  AUic — nijiuiiau.  say  a  sq,  jui 

Tod  rtresn't  care  for  Ix>nf!oii  Pocicty.*' 

,»,!  iv>v«f  <•':/-  a  -gg-Tin  or  two  wbeu  you  come  of  age.' 

.>r  two  of  \m\Ih  and  garCen-paities,  I  ce: 

-■uuii  liiinjf. 

cf?    Yoa  tion'l  mind  tiicir  eid<fasIiioned  notions  ; 

Olive,  I  don't  ovs  %  pm  about  bolls  and  gacdeu* 

^ti  know  jBC^Jjing:  abont  them." 

'  ies  at  tiie  Tewa» 

.lo  society,  AlUa" 


3  FOIi    LIFE    AISD    LOVE. 

"  Yes,  if  1  \vere  a  beauty,  peiLuips,  and  like'.y  to  TOake  a  sensation. 
But  I'm  not  a  bcaiiiy— quite  tiic  coutrary;  and,  besides,  it  wcni><i 
he  a  joke  tu  '  come  out '  at  one-and  twenty." 

*'  Ellinor  is  to  come  out  next  season,  and  then  mamma  will  havo 
three  of  us  on  ber  bands,"  Olive  says  meditatively. 

*'  But  Poppy  i!^  eniiaged." 

**  Oh,  yes.  Poppy  in  engaged  I  And  I'm  going  to  retire  into  pri- 
vate life  and  take  up  sestbeticism  oi  women's  rights!"  Olive  laughs, 
laking  her  cup  of  tea  out  of  my  hands.  "  1  can't  compliment  yon 
en  the  beauty  of  j'our  tea-service,  AJlie.  You  won't  find  it  \ery 
Jiard  to  *  live  up  to  '  that  tea-pot!" 

"  Or  the  cozy!"  1  say,  holding  it  up  for  her  inspection.  *'  Isn't 
it  •  utter,'  Olive?" 

**  Utterly  hideous!"  Olive  answers,  looking  at  it  through  her 
glasses.  "  Why  dou't  you  thi'owit  l^kind  the  grate  and  work  a  nevr 
one  for  yourself  in  crewels  on  peacock  velveteen,  like  what  1  am 
making  for  Eliinor?" 

"I  don't  do  crewebwork;  and,  besides,  I  don't  want  to  insult 
Mrs.  Wauchope.     She  made  that  cozy  herself.  " 

•*  So  I  sbould  have  supposed.  \ou  must  iimi.  it  lonely  here  in  the 
evening,  Allie  "—looking  round  the  room. 

*'  Lonely!"  I  echo.  *'  You  may  say  so,  my  dear!  I  never  felt  so 
Jonely  before  in  mv  life." 

'*  Then  wny  do  you  stay  here,  you  ridiculous  girl?" 

**  Oh,  because  1  wouldn't  give  Aunt  Rosa  the  satisfaction  of  going 
home  before  the  end  of  the  month!  She  would  only  tell  me  for  the 
hundredth  time  that  it  was  a  pity  1  didn't  know  my  own  mind." 

*'  Then  why  don't  you  come  to  us?" 

*'  And  practice  seniles  half  the  iliiy  for  your  delectation  and  that  of 
your  visitors!  Ino,  thank  you,  my  dear.  I  came  up  to  get  singing- 
lessons,  not  to  amuse  myself;  and,  having  put  my  hand  to  the  plow, 
1  won't  turn  back — yet  awhile.  And  it's  not  so  bad  here,  after  all, 
only  a  littje  lonely — and  the  music-lessons  are  great  fun." 

"  How  do  }^u  like  the  new  tong?" 

*'  I  have  murdered  it  till  it  threatens  to  haunt  me  for  the  rest  of 
my  lite,"  I  laugh,  glancing  at  the  piano.  Then,  struck  by  a^  suddea 
ic-collectioit — "  Oh,  Oiive,  I've  a  piece  of  news  for  you!  We've  got 
a  ,i;;:ntleiaan-Iodger  at  Number  Thii-ty- three. " 

J  ■"-■    i '  !  ■•-bout  tw^ity  minutes  ago,  with  a  black  valise 

,  :St'. ' ' 

'  X  luHj'i  know.  Mrs.  Wauchope  never  told  us  a  word  about  hir, 
ri;?-:  '    :,'  {lure  was  nobody  in  the  house  but  tlwse  two  clu  m- ?  i 

u't  in  the  house  then,  I  suppose!"  ' 
iciu"'.  i.        '■  '..  Jiat  is  he  like,  Allio?    Young  or  old.  ■ 
■ 'hat  cither*   Young,  I '■        " 

'   "'     \-  Anne?'* 

3  sincYj  he  came  into  the  1 
"  '    ^  uovv,  and  we'll  cross-questic.  Oiivp 


FOB    LIPE    ANB    LOVE.  " 

CifYo  ia  up  to  more  mischief  than  I  am,  BOtwithstaDding  bet 
■^pectacks.     1  ring  the  bell. 

**  We  need  ?)ot  expect  her  for  ten  rriinntcs  or  so,*'  1  say;  and,  peod- 
inj?  Ler  arrival,  we  drill  into  talk,  about  our  singing-lessons,  ot  the 
concert  wfe  are  to  take  part  in  with  the  reBt  ot  tiie  pupils  on  the 
twenty-first.  Poppy's  bridemaids'  dresees,  and  a  hundred  other 
tiling*.  When  at  last  Mary  Anne  does  make  her  appearance,  we 
stare  at  her  with  a  vague  surprise  in  both  oiir  faces. 

**  You  ran":,  miss?"  she  says,  with  a  look  of  stolid  inquiry. 

**  Oh,  yes!"  Olive  answers,  in  quite  a  sprightly  way.  "You 
wanttd  coal  on  the  fire,  Allie,  didn't  you?" 

Mary  Anne  puts  coal  on  the  fire  ponderausly. 

**  Who  was  the  gentleman  who  came  in  just  now?"  1  ask,  trying 
to  speak  with  a  iriJivity  which  might  excuse  the  question. 

"  The  aiticr^,"  .Mary  Anne  answers,  putting  some  finishing  touches 
to  the  coal  with  her  fingers. 

*'  What  is  his  name?"  Olive  inquires,  without  a  change  of  oouof 
teoance. 

**  I  torget  his  name.    We  calls  him  the  Count.'' 

*•  Is  he  a  count?" 

*'  Oh,  no — no  more  a  connt  than  you  arel  But  he's  so  dark  and 
foreign-look  in  T.  nnd  so  short-like  of  money,  we  calls  him  the  Count. 
Kot  >r  that— he's  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  wouldn't 

owe  :     .        ^  ing. '* 

*'  Then  how  do  you  know  he  is  poor?"  Olive  inquires  with  hi- 
l<jrest. 

"  In  course  he  wouldn't  live  up  four  pairs  of  stairs  if  heliad 

mu<'  \  for  all  he  wunts  to  be  near  the  skylightl" 

*•  .  at  with  the  sJcylight?" 

*' iie'.-<  an  lii.-.,"  Mary  Anne  aiiswera,  with  such  an  inimitable 
air  of  pity,  i;wl  to  s.iy  contempt,  that  Olive  and  1  are  abaolutuly 
afraid  to  look  t.-^ch  other  in  the  face. 

"  is  he  a  piiolognipher?"  Olive  asks  innocently. 

*'  Oh,  no— n  painter  I     And  a  poor  thing  he  makes  of  it,  though 

ihat,  if  he  worked  ut  it,  he'-'  'or 

ii  hard  enough  sometime^,  ^  Ls 

e  has  a  lot  ot  idle  young  trie  r- 

t  doubt  but  he'd  do  well  l       _  ^  :a 

-.k)ue. " 

**  Wh  ..'been  for  the  last  fortnight?"  1  innnir.'*  fliinTo 

if  Aunt 

"Oa:;  "Mary  Anne 

iand  or  -  i  1  Uiko  the  ' 


tit.)0 


I  vy 


,"1  answer  morr  ^e 

..g  aDout  it  for  tho  **^^.  ^k.-^..^^,^  ^  at 

him,"  Olive  says, 


lAm  on  uad  that's  not  ver>' 


8  FOB    LIIL    ^..^    ^J.^. 

■f  "'^ds,  i  V...;.  .  ,.y  Mrs.  Waucbope  ttUi  gire  iiima  liki  jring 

about  the  house  while  you  are  tere.'* 
i  don't  mind  his  friends,  or  him  either.    Only  I  r>i  ^j*r  Aunt 
•losa  will  think  n\y  being  hert  more  cuire  th&z.  ever,     i  say,  Olive, 
wouldu  t  you  liij:e  to  see  his  studio?" 

"  1  should,  very  much.    I  wonder  if  he  takes  portraits,  Allic 
Wouldn't  it  be  fun  if  i  got  him  to  paint  my  pictuie?    ^.'  d 

come  wiih  me  to  piay  propriety,  you  knorr;  or  would  it  ba  r 

to  have  up  51rs.  Waiichope?    1  Trl'sh  we  kuew  his  name." 

"  1  shall  soon  lind  it  put.  Gins's  Baby,  i  call  him — the  iciti:. 

is  valise  were  *  G.  B.'  " 

*'  *  G.  B.'  "  Olive  repeats  musingiy.     *'  Fred  knowB  a  great  mar;^ 

oung  artists.     I'll  ask  him  if  he  knows  any  '  G.  B.*  ** 

"  1  am  atraid  the  *  four  pair  back  '  is  an  artist  as  yet  unknown  lo 
fame,"  1  laugh,  poking  the  fire  into  a  bright  cheery  blazo.  "It 
has  grown  djirk  already  in  Carleton  Street;  but,  1  do  not  cr>  "  h% 
the  gas  yet;  it  makes  the  evening  seem  so  in  terminably  ioL  ut 

the  o-as  at  half  past  five." 

*•  1  m  afraid  so.    Aliie,  what  colotr  is  your  evcniag-dress?'' 

"  Blue,  my  dear — the  most  delicate  shade  of  bird'e-egg  blue,'* 

**  Gauze  or  grenadine?" 

*'  Neither,  silk  and  crepe.    Oh,  it  is  a  very  decent  dress!  1  was  e: 
irava^fint  enough  to  get  it  from  Madame  Garoupe." 

'*  Tiieaitissure  to  be  all  right,"  Olive  says,  withasigbof  as  conit 
■f^  '  '     'ion  as  if  the  crepe  and  silk  "  confecfioa  "  v 

i  ijer  eyes.     *'  1  wish  1  could  order  my  dreesee  . 

CiUiiid  GiiiV'Lipe. 

"  1  can  afford  it;  1  get  so  few  of  them.'* 

"  Afiord  itl"  Olive  laughs,  shrugging  her  shou-,Ifiis. 

"Oh,  well,  yoa  know  Lacle  Tod"do€snt  ailow  lae  much  for 
dress!" 

"  Then  why  don't  you  mak©  him  give  you  more?" 

•'  I  don't  want  it.  He  lets  me  hnve  my  horse  and  my  doge;  and 
nobody  dres.ses  much  at  Yattenden." 

So  *'  Gins's  Baby  "  drops  cut  of  the  conversation.    And  so  com- 

letely  have  we  forgotten  hjs  existence  that,  v/hen  ¥red  "  -^omes 

Q,  we  never  think  of  asking  him  if  he  knows  of  an;  -hose 

initials  are  "  G.  B."    Fred  wants  to  engsge  ine  for  the  •  tz 

ou  Friday  evening,  and,  as  he  dances  rgiy  baxUy.  1  want  ; re 

myself  f  oi  his  brotiier  Gus,  who  is  sure  to  ask  me,  and  who  dancer 
very  well. 

"  What's  tc  be  the  color  of  your  dress.  Miss  Scott?**  FJed  ia 
'^■' '"■'"  "linking  no  doubt  of  Corent  Garden, 
—cerulean  blue." 
1  a  King  color  from  the  skies,  can  heaven's  trutii  be  wanting  r 
he  quotes  sentimentally,  looking  into  ^es  which  were  certainly  no 
*'  made-  fvi  c  '  rest  granting,"  blut  as  {h«y  may  be. 

"  CoKie  i  (.;..<.',  Fred;  we  shall  b«  l»t^  for  dinsrr.  Send  him 
rAV'iv,  Aiiie;  yon'Ii  have  lots  of  liras  t©  flirt  oi  evenin: 

f :--  ;-by,  my  dear,  and  mind  yo«  wiit*  down  to  \, ^sx  lor  you 

I'll  see  ycu  at  ^iadaine  Crouhelm's  to  morrow.    Fare  we 
e  meet  a5?£ia!" 

*  Q  ^our  lauer,  whiie  Li^iJkjeoeaced  in  demoli  y  solitar 


TOE  UFB  jiin)  Lova; 

rtAcsc'tL.  i  lAfckH?  voices  overhead — hii-h  rrerhefic!— :^\-s.  Y^a'uChon^ 

r,  and  then  a  (  ^t 

A  ^he  great  eirij  ,_.  >& 

'.  presently  try  to  wi  -.- 

i   iMv-  rrrU  oi  a  dish  of  aliu>-iauj>  «i><^  i-xxj;  i;->  awu  v^ctiv'e 

How  ionely  it  looks!    Howvrearisotr.e  it  will  be  wilk- 

1  <'f!    1  envy  people  who  have  other  pe€>- 

\\auchope — 1  even  envy  Z^arv  Anne. 

^  Iciugii  is  aU  oileiise  to  me— 1,  who  have  nothing  lo  maks 

1  ly  as  1  ara,  up  there  at  the  top  of  o. 

]  iie .   -^  . :.  ^ust  as  dreary  and  long  to  him '_io 

9  nie.     I.ct  a  bit  oi  it!    Before  1  have  finished  my  dinner,  1  hear 

iiim  nin      ^  -t  ^*air3,  croes  the  hall,  and  go  out  at  the  front  door. 

On  the  he  x>auses  a  moment  to  litrht  a  match,  and  then  he 

'  a  the  street  quickly,  as  though  he  knew  where  he 

-  glad  t-o  go. 

1  think,  a  little  bitterly,  as  1  leaa  back  in 

.  stretch  out  iw  hand  lazilv  for  an  almond. 

.a  be  if  1  coul  '  my  'Sf  w 

iC  gayly-fliumiD  -  ts — to  t  r- 

.  or  to  meet  and  chat  with  a  friend!  But,  instead  <  ;st 

r,.  n-^.-  .!•  .  jire,  reading  a  book  1  know  b^'  heart  l^ >.«-;'  ^ 

ins. 

■it't"  1  ask  Mary  Anne,  as  she  folds  up  the  tab. 


cloth. 


ners  laconically. 


/'*  1  ask  carelesslT. 
vnne  aiiswei*  vague!}'.     **  A  >k 

-  .or  the  evening,"  she  adds,  v>i .    t- 

-  countenance.     "  The  miatress  told  him  so  jt 

That  t  had  rasAt  him  laugh.     What  a  careless  young 

luD'Ai  i'  '  ■        '  *ili.     To  driv    '^  —    ■  ^  -■  —,^ 

♦JO'.',  n    IT  :  ,     J^  nierec.  ^Q 

'^uo  of  rnne — "  Thr 
'Ja  to  the  very  last  verse,  i  sing  it  uirough — 

**W««Ir  im?    We  Jovv' i  >  l\9Tt 


CHAPTER  II. 


.i-e.  Mrs.  "^' 


iath€h 


10  ^fm  A'ND  ijoyii. 

•'  That  makes  no  difference,"  1  say,  my  sense  or  lUttejiTity  bda^ 
apparently,  no  mate  for  niy  landlady's. 

1  am  sitting  at  the  Uible  in  the  thividle  of  the  room,  finishing  my 
rcMlcfast.     U  is  nine  o'clocJ?;,  and  a  cool  gleam  of  J^/Itircb  sunshir, 
j;hls  up  my  big  dingy  drawLng-n>oui,  m-iie  ilie  -r  ''' »  ^  carpet  an 
urtain« — which    have  faded  into  an  indescnbu'  ;  betwee; 

rab  and  da«t  color — look  still  more  ancient,  and  •  i;  tiighll 

ri  the  breaktaBt-tablfi,  on  the  tin  saiTline-box,  <•  r/ivcB  and. 

'  -,  on  ray  siWer  .solitaires—for  1  have  drawn  tl  i:p  to  the 

I  the  windov/s  lliat  1  may  toel  even  that  vo  .i^iiictory 

!.t  of  sunshine  on  my  tacc.     My  landlady  is  stu  ';>o«te  to 

.le,  on  the  of.her  side  of  the  tnblu— a  fat,  sallow  co  .ed  worn. 

u  in  a  frilled  gown  of  bhiek  luster,  with  purple  riblHJtiyS  in  her  black 
-ict  cap  and  a  purple  knitteil  fichu  tied  behind  with  woolen  tjissels. 

*'  He  wanted  to  know  this  morning  if  the  dru'.viii2:»rooims  'wera 
taken,"  Mrs,  Wauchope  says,  laughing  in  her  siieiit  fashion.  "I 
toid  him  ihey  weie — by  a  lady  of  a  certain  age  troiu  the  countiy. 
That  wiU  keep  him  frorh  asking  an}''  more  que--''  "    " 

Aunt  Ra'^a's  face  rises  before  me,  grimly  •'  i;ig.     But  I 

tura  m}'-  bdck — metaphorically — on  the  menaci 

**  How  lojg  has  he  been  lodging  here,  Mrs,   •  ?'V' 

"  iV"el],"  Mrs.   Wauchope  answers  slowly,  "  hit' 6  iteeu  with  me, 
ofl  and"  on,  for  more  than  two  years  now;  and  I've  t.-^vct  found  hin^ 
lything  but  most  resix^ctable  and  well-conducted.  his  tem- 

,  oris  none  of  the  sweetest,  l^ot,  that  any  of  us  .  .  ...,i  if  we're 
put  out,"  she  adds  extenuatingly;  "  and,  if  one's  born  with  a  bad 
temper,  wliy  it's  all  the  more  cieditable  if  one  keep-i  it  down." 

This  bad-tempered  young  raali--\yhoee  name,  Mrs.  Wauchope  in 
'■;>rm3  me,  is  Buxler— Gerard  Baxter — would  be  inteujejy  gnitiliet. 
he  could  hear  us.     But  as  he  left  the  hoii«e  hours  a;^o— so  Mrs, 
Vfauchope  also  informs  me—^that  gralitication  U  denied  to  him. 
"  Come  up,  and  I'll  show  you  his  studio.  Mis?!  Allic.     You  neve. 
:W  such  an  old  curiosity-shop.     And  it  wouki  be  ils  much  as  m> 
fe-is  wor;h  to  sweep  it  or  anytiiing — though.  ^'"  '^n    n  knows,  i, 
luts  it!   But  he'd  ily  at  me  like  a  young  tiger  ,  .l  dust  on 

etn  weary  old  pictures." 

"  Bnt  if  he  were  to  come  in  and  find  us  poking  about  hiy  premises^ 

'■"■   Wauchope,"  i  say,  divide;!  between  all  the  notior.';  of  propriety 

Aunt  Rosa  has  been  inculc^itmg  on  me  fhrii-'.ijyu  sc-ore  gx 

as  acd  a  powerful  desire  ifo  see  the  ructures,  "  fancy  vrhat  a  cro\* 

;  woidd  luive  to  pUiok  witn  you!" 

"He's  gone  to  Kensington,  and  won't  be  in  till  four  o'clock," 
lilr%.  Waudjope  declares  pbsitivf^ly.  "  1  wouuln't.  }i,-r?  vou  c>a>ighi,- 
up  thc^e  lor  the  world,  ?rIiRS  Allie;  but,  even  if  il\  .\  chance 

of  hl.i|^'oinij)g  back,  he  has  lott  his  latcli-key  on  hk  <  f  ;hl;'  sc 

d  he  can't  got  into  the  house  unless  Ise  knocks," 
1  am  more  than  doubl'ivd  about  the  whole  procer...  . ,  .->.LiiA 
)m  th.e  breaktat't-t;.ib'e,  and,  gathering  up  my  )ong  dresis  in  np 
' ''    '■^'■^•'    'f' '    -'-.w-.^    .,.,  .,.-.   .^  1  he  room    "  '  '  n  the  gloomy 

:.'{;•  V,  :>--i::i!i'.'? '(-ng  euo'iiii'h  tor  ?v'  '    "     •  "•nt  t© 


I' OR    LIFE    AND    LOVE.  11 

1  sbeil  only  fcuA  peep  In  at  the  door,"  1  say:  and  Mb.  Wau 
.'.y>pu,  p;.-.  i;)'^  on  before  me,  nods  her  head  and  opens  the  low  nn« 

>  -.('ii-.]  iloor 

x4  had  the  wall  raised,  you  see,"  she  say  2:  me  in 

X  n.)  go  in—"  and  got  Ihut  gluss  root  put  '  •>  ,  it  much, 

r,  you  kuovv,  and  quile  cheerful  and  p.;  1  <i  never 

'  be  such  a  fine  roomy  piace  Ije  lop  of 

at  i^arret-roomliap  certainly  been  T  y 

..._..  L'd  studio.  An  awning  litis  been  j^ii ,        <■•- 

glass  rooi,  (}irf)wing  ihe  iight  moie  fully  upon  the  essel  m  I)  e  mii 
°!e  of  the  floor.     The  place  is  crovrded  for  th^  '    ^    nrt  with  a  lii 
■r  of  quaint  odds  ami  t-uds,  but  its  untidiness  ;  trouble  m 

s  to  trouble  my  landlady.     Several  jm  i-      ,  dnished  and 
'.,  hang  or  lean  against  the  walls;  a  lay  fi  rure  does  'duty 
as  a  ii;.i  lack  in  one  cornei*,  in  another  a  pile  of  ru~  '        ■  ^ 

innumer;ii)!o  spiilwrs,  to  judge  from  the  webs  \vi: 
toonud.    On  the  v;\.s^;\  m  the  middle  of  the  floor 
picture,  witli  t'l;.' colors  still  wet  upon  it — a  S(,  .       \  j 

realistic  view  of  mountain-scenery;  in  the  foreground 

*'  A  lalce  of  sadnpt?''.  seldom  simned,  that  stretched 
la  sulleu  silence  fruin  a  marge  of  reeda." 

1  am  not  an  artist;  yet  1  stand  before  the  unfraraed  canvas— 1 
Ink  a  XJicture  never  looks  so  well  as  when  standing  uniramc>fl  upon. 
ihe  easel  where  it  was  painted — lost  in  admiration  of  the  power, 
clearnea?,  and  artistic  completeness  which  breathe  through  tho 
whole  coJipoiiiiion,  and  which  even  1  am  not  too  ignonrnt  to  under- 
stand and  to  niiprfT.iiiie. 

"That  is  t  :e  he    brought  from   br    '      '    '  Jlrs.   "Wan- 

.ape  says,  st-  1  little  behind  me  with  *  on  one  silo 

[       ■   i^se  tiuTc's  a  great  deal  in  it — tnero  v  i)c,  if  he  did' 

r  It  paint  it  all  the  time  he  WiLS  away.  n  I  am  sure 

me  young  lady  in  Scotland,  he  goes  t  \:  but  ha 

■  -s  ^,w.  .le  doesn't  care  for  young  ladies — wii  '  -''■\  yoii 
low,"  Mrs.  NVauchope  adds;  "  and  he  with  ••  h  Iq 

uishead!     Whether  h:^  ''"  •  them  or  '-  V  •'  to  I 

tell  him."' 

i    "V      '         ry  hapdsome  eyes?"  I  ask  ao^eiiijj  .  ...-cmuied  by  the 

pictu;  me. 

•    "Rrtndsome!'"  Mrs.  Wauchope  ropejitH. .  *' 1  01 

■were  not  put  into  his  head  tor  the  good  of  hi'i  s  

iaughs  at  me,  and  asks  me  what  1  want  h;  lormc.     H 

"^^  my  spectacles,  and  the  otlier  day  he  t<  -^  r  ^^-'"." 

s  ])icture,  and  made  it  lool:  as  good  at'  n 

■  is  th^re  anything  he  cannot  do?"  I  ask,  la 

"He  doesn't   seem  to  be  able  to  make  bis  -s.  "Wau- 

uii:  lu:r  Head,  with 
I'    P'.f'»!!P.^    on  \]\f    \r 


•itifttkWA; 


"jnua'    It  is  because  ho 'r 
fs  to  be  at  sjametiitig  eJ*e." 

An  unlucky  temptiranioiit I"  1  say  to  .... ,     .. — ^—^  —  .. -. 

:m  hat:  lost  her  lu^-^rt  t^o  this  unsriib!«  young  nuiii. 
a;.  Wauchope  \\m  uioved  away  to  the  otbeT  eod  of  tlie  room, 
;;t/ on   cari-yiKg"  "uy^^'i  some  enipty  cii^ar-boxes  whicli  she  has 
* 'u-re,  aaa  i  turi;  away  from  iLe  caavas  wliich  Las  ta?!:eD  sue' 
'i^y  ini a tri option  to'gl.uice  round  die  piecUuMs  wherein 
'  leirling  1  have  no  busirie««.  It  is  iny  tirst,  inlrodiictiou  tv> 
Cclieoiiaa  as  ti\e  srudio  of  a  professional  paialer;  and  i 
U  uoiwiths'.anain^  tlie  litter  of  pileUes  and  brusbes,  the  bc-Jtloa 
mwiium,"  the  maui-sticks  and  pa  Idle- knives,  the  coiOJ-s  and 
yjds  and  ends  ot  canvas  »csa«{cred  alwut  the  floor.  There  are  pictur 
•"!>m1  and  unfraiued,  ranged  ubout  the  room    .  Theie  is  a  m; 
ueous  asj^ortUiOLit  of  pipes  on  the  table — here  a  quaint  chi; 
nracco- jar,  there  a  tail  cjuidlestick  of  Fiorenthie  bronze,  where:, 
lie  candle  has  been  allowed  to  burn  down  to  the  socket,  fencin 
'  ^  on  the  WHJl,  books  thrown  xlown  carelessly  iiern  and  there  ana 
here,  a  ta.i<  d  bhie  velvet  suK)ki!)i5-<iap  on  one  eJielf,  ou  another 
■i  camellift  ia  its  (lusty  q>tcinieii-gl<\s.s — u  dead  brown  cameb 
:h?ch  cteem^  to  have  perished  oi  thiret.  for  the  Uaf  besl:'.e  it, 
:cIn?Ji  down  to  the  drop  oi'  neater  in  «iis  bottom  ot  th(. 
-It  w':^  areea. 

1  his  photoRTaph,  if  you'd  like  to  see 

^ing  besiiitt  a  door  leadiDg"  iuio  an  inner  ruons. — 
OS  his  a]bjmi  an  Iho  dres-':i;i_5:-table  luostiy,  find 
Gu  uii^iit  kiio.v  a/aie  of  his  friends." 

'?-y\  ir.  This  proposal  1  at  once  put  a  dec:^. .  ..  -.  ...... .  -     ^ » .    ? 

e— whii  h  ill!  the  vporkt"  muy  soon  see — is  or.e  thing,  iX)  p: 
.'icr^ets  oL'hisphotograf  hie  album  another.  1  wonder  it  Mr 
a  is  equally  obli^in.!^  in  exhibiting  my  phoio^rnipliic  altii: 
Pryqe?  1  ahall  lock  it  up  leligioijt^-ly  in  fufuie,  le 
a.<^  anxiou.^  to  amui^e  them  at  my  u^qyentio  as  -she  is  ' 
;  i*i  3,ir.  Baxter's. 

.  just  ;>'OiD£j  in  to  dust  hi'-  V -'  'i*^?x-j;u;  . ,     .^.. , 

mcvs,  nnil  suits  Ike  action  to  i  by  disappearing  into  It: 

terly  refusing  lo  let  the  idea  of  Awtit  lior 

kewk     A  ijhiiii  ot  the  eariy  March  H'lnshine  fetivaius  i 
he  f-:''rH&hfcs,  Hgbtin.iij  up  a  Vlasty  canvjis  ht'Le,  a  gilde 
ing  into  greater  prDniinence  some  bit  of  Binilin 
le  eobwebbt-d  "  pror>erty,"  «nd  shining  tult  upoi 
■  c;:i<l  camelliA  in  the  little  l^]lJ^s  at  my  elbow.    My  eye  rests  on 
t".  ••;>/'  •' J;-.fvo  'm.>Vx"  inaiilatjvely  at  tirst,  pttyio.^  liie  ••'^'^' 

•ejti3S  waler-t>prin;i,s  "  have  "  m 
1.  ...  .-.  rii  v;;j,;a  a  apiHt  of  mijichief  enters  into  /lu  - 
v.hlcii  is  vrorthy  of  OMv'e  Uejme  herselt*    Yet  ought 
■  v'  wiil  ever  knoy/ — I'Jrs.  Waiiciiope  wii!  never  eu'.- 
'  K'ii'>!le  ;'ni>f"»',  ■•.v"!iiHi  fr»r'i  (^  ('r)i-^...}<i  lo<i|.:s  like: 


FOR    LIFE    AND    TjOYTZ.- 

crcd  c&mriili^  out  of  the  glass  and  put  the  frecb.  swcoo  ue';vy  b«n(. 
ot  vioIcLa  1  am  wearin<T  iul'a  it  mstiwdT 

If  1  do  it  at  all,  1  aiiist  do  it  novr,  while  Mrs.  7v 
•^nrrr  ('.     Artain  my  cr-         •  e  ^lii«pei*s  "  Do  not  uw  j;  .- 
•  '  !i  ,   ;    ,.i  esir  to  i;  How  he  will  puzzle  oyer  H, 

it  he  ;;        "    y  Anne,  she  will  be  able  to  ' 
)'-invr  nt  .  '.oct  m  the  market  buying  v 

'  Mi'H.  ^V;lu^Lo)>^,  even  if  she  45uspecii>  me,  . 
'  iiim  that  abe  had  sJiowed  me  to  pry  into  i, 

'  ime  Jind  the  opportunity  are  too  miich  for  me — in  auotiier  i 
_  have  transterrsd  tho  violetn  Jrrom  my  dress  to  the 'if "^^  :.. 
holdin;^  the  dejki  camellia  hidden  in  the"  palm  ot  my  h, 
■■'  \    -Tvpose  you've  seen  all  yon  want  to  see,  Miss  Ai..-. 

[rsi.  Wauchope  says,  comm<r  back  with  her  black-silk ; 
Hi  oi  [;ie  empty  cigar- boxfis.     **  jtnd  how  any  one  can  Jive  hi 
den,"  she  adds,  her  cursory  glance  takine"  in  the  flTtmt>ic 
ly  abounds  in  the  place  wi! 
ash  heap,  "  pssses  my  comj 
;>-smoke  would  suffocate  you,  someUmcs— i'm  oi 
,\«  will  get  a  wliitr  oi  it  in  the  parlors!    If  you'Jl 
door,  3iiss  Allie,  I'd  be  obliged  to  you — you  see  my  hands  are  f  uJi. 
TJie  moment  J  hare  closed  the  door  my  mind  misgives  me.     Br 
'   is  too  late.    The  deed  done  Ciinnot  be  undone;  and,  with  tli 
"■'Ilia  in  my  hand,  I  descend  the  sUirs  leisurely,  laughin:^  le- 
ts 1  look,  round  the  paflsagea  which  must  be  so  familiar  to 
jirs.   Wauchope's  Machiavelian   method  oi    • 
iriosity  in  Mr.  Baxter's  mind  with  regurd  to  I; 
'dger. 

""l  Tvond^r  where  he  got  this?"  I  say  to  myself,  as  1  brin?  t! 
:.t  in  the  privacy  ot  my  own  room,  a  mintite 

.,-    -  jily  gave  it  to  him.     Perhaps  he  values  it,  d<.. 

ie,  more  than  tons  of  the  sweetest  and  freshest  violets!    If  t' 
tue  case,  how  he  will  bless  the  thief  who  stole  it!    How  he  vvih 
treat  my  poor  little  violets  1  Yet  I  fancy  he  bought  this  flower — 
is  half  a  yard  of  wure  round  it.     And.' if  he  cared  very  much  i 
he  would  scarcely  have  left  it  to  die  for  lack  of  water  in  a  a 
vase."  k 

'  J^evertheless  I  shut  it  up  in  a  bon-bon  box,  and  lock  it  into  wr 
wardrobe,  feeli7>:r  vagT;«ly  conscious  of  a  po 
oroducc  it  at  some  futuretime.  1  have  stolen  i:. 
'.ould  it  chance  to  be  discovered,  1  might  be  cjllled  upon  to  r«  - 
f>  nnrlornrd  propcTty,  even  though  it  be  only  a  dcii'l  '  -■  i  «  it;.,    ^ 
At.y  as  I  txim  ihe  key  in  my  wardrobe. 
a>ri-M<  J  n  »y  if  he  could  have  leon  me  putting  up  his  i.i.-!vu,ii 
ton-hole"  in  a  pasteboaid  box?    Would  he  not  thick  w: 
th»t  1  valued  the  flower  becwtse  ho  had  worn  it  fc 
his  coftt — 1.  who  never  beheld  him  in  my  lif^'' 
A'       '  ■.'    1  do  not  dftre  to  d-^fcll  c 

T  iinir  she  couid  any  ot  ro«  v 

.^     1  «iiail  ntsfav  tc'.l  her,  o 
■ven  Olive  Dt^ino.     Gvcnl  ii 
r  she  wouUl  pves^ijri  a 


>-t  FOR    LIFE    AK©    LOYE. 

suddenly,  and  1  hope  the  violets  Will  be  dead  before  iiu  sees  them 
v/olets  wither  very  soon  out  ot  water — these  will  be  black  and  deaa 
to-raorrow,  if  they  spend  the  night  in  that  dry  dusty  glass. 

As  1  put  on  my  iur  cap  to  go  to  my  singing-el ,'iss,  1  wonder 
vaguely  il  he  is  as  handsome  as  Mrs.  Wauchope  dbscribes  hira,  and 
if  he  cares  as  little  for  j'oang  ladies  as  he  tells  her  he  does;  and 
then  1  button  on  the  j;icket  of  thick  gray  tweed  which  matches  my 
dress,  and,  sallying  out  into  the  cold  March  morning  air,  straight 
way  forge;  that  there  is  such  a  person  in  existence  as  Mis.  Wan 
chope's  "attics." 

'*  Wasn't  it  stupid  ot  me?  1  quite  forgot  to  asli  Fred  if  he  knew 
mytliing  ot  '  G-  B.,'  "  Olive  says,  as  we  issue  out  ot  Madame 
Cronheltn  's  house  with  half  a  dozen  other  girls,  all  carrying  port- 
folios of  music.  "  They  are  all  talking  so  much  of  the  wedding  that 
it  puts  everything  else  out  of  my  head." 

"  His  name  is  JJaxler — Gerard  Baxter.  Mrs.  "Wauchope  told  me 
so  this  mornini!;,"  1  answer,  the  recollection  of  my  morning's  mis- 
demeanor flashing  into  my  mind  for  the  Ji-st  time  since  1  left  the 
house.  "  He  is  a  landscape-painter,  and  his  people  are  Scotch;  he 
has  nobofly  belonging  to  him  but  an  old  grandmother,  Mrs.  Wau- 
chope  thinks,  who  lives  in  Edinburgh.  And  he's  as  proud  as  Luci- 
fer aud  as  poor  as  a  church-mouse." 

Olive  laugtis,  looking  at  me  through  her  s:o\d-nmmed  pinee-nez. 

**  You  must  not  fall  m  love  with  hlrn,  Allie — 

"  *  He  >vas  but  a  landscape  painter, 

Aiid  a,  village  inaideu  »he!'  " 

•'  He  won't  fall  in  love  with  me  from  3Ir3.  Wauchope's  descrip- 
tion," 1  laugh  m  my  turn;  and  then  I  relate  that  worthy  woman's 
etioke  of  diplomacy  in  describing  me  as  a  spinster  from  the  country 
"  between  the  ages,"  as  Madame  Cronheim  would  say.  If  lam 
tempted  for  a  moment  to  relate  the  episode  of  the  violets,  Olive's 
next  words  induce  me  to  hold  my  peace. 

"  I  didn't  tell  mamma  a  word  about  him,"  she  says,  nodding  her 
blonde  head  Siigttciously.  "  She  would  be  sure  not  to  like  it:  and  she 
might — 1  don  t  sav  she  would,  but  she  might — write  and  fell  j'oui 
Aunt  Kosa.  Mrs.  Wauchope  ought  not  to  hare  preieuded  thei^  were 
none  but  ladies  in  the  house.  JS'oi  that  it's  really  any  matter  you 
know — only  mamma  has  charge  of  you  in  a  manner,  though  you 
were  m  obsiiuate  wretch,  and  would  not  come  to  stay  with  u? 
at  the  square." 

"  I'll- come  for  Poppv's  wedding  next  month." 

*'  Well.  1  ^l50i?ld  tinnk  you  would!" 

*'  And  ime  back  with  me  to  the  vicarage,  Olive." 

"My  «;  dn't  miss  being  at  Womlhay  Manor  on.  the 

eleventh  ot  next  .june  for  anything  " 

'*  And  1  eifnriMn"!  care  halt  as  'much  tor  anj'thing  it  you  weren't 
there.  Do  yo  )er  my  birthday  last  yeai\  and  the'^fun  wo  Iiad 

with  thf  s'i:  "'^     You  said  it  was  the  first  lime  you  had 

cvrv ■])■■] >)'■:■  work,  and  you  rather  liked  it." 

"^'  ■  the:  !.<■.. :-■  r=:;->';.:r.'   /  :');_•    Andbesidefi^ 


FOR    LIFE    AJCD    LOTS.  15 

''tt  <1c»r  delighttul  cuiate  of  your  uncle's  was  tbere—lhe  man  with 

"■•. 

I  nyacinth  Lockhart,"  I  laugh,  remembering  how 
(]iiieil  wjili  him.     "  How  do  you  like  the  new  song  Madame 
iielm  has  given  yon?" 
'J.  don't  like  it  at  all,"  Olive  says,  shrugging  her  shoulders; 
"and  1  think  Madame  Cronhdm  is  very  cross;  don't  you?" 
"  t'he  is  verv  strict.    But  you  know  you  are  horribly  idle,  Olive.** 
"  My  dear,  I  don't  go  to  Madame  Gronhelra  to  learn.     1  only  go 
or  the  fun  ot  the  thing." 
"  Then  you  en  n't  expect  her  to  taKe  any  pains  with  you." 
"  1  don't  want  her  to  do  so.     She  admires  your  voice,  Allie." 
"  Slie  thought   1  was  only  a  beginner. " 

"Well,  you  astonislied  her.  She  never  says  much — except  to 
riticise,  and  she's  bitter  enough  then — but  1  conld  see  that  your 
inguig  ot  that  delicious  '  Serenade '  took  her  by  surprise.  And 
ferr  von  Kouig  put  on  his  spectacleo  to  look  at  you.  Allie.  it's  the 
reafef^t  pity  in  the  world  that  you  aie  a  woman  of  independent 
lenns!  You'd  make  a  fortune  on  the  stage!" 
*^  1  wish  Aunt  Kosa  could  hear  you!" 

*•  1  am  sure  M?ulame  Cronhelm  Thinks  you  mean  to  sing  in  public.*' 
**  Mp.uame  Cronhelm  is  at  liberty  to  think  her  own  thoughts." 
*'  Di»  they  know  you  have  such  a  voice  down  at  the  vicarage?" 
*'  lusitvf,  in  church.'  I  say  demurely. 

"  1  never  knew  such  a  queer  girl  .is  you  are,  Allie.    If  you  were 
anvlx>dy  else,  you  would  be — " 

''  1  wouldn't  be  Aliie  Somers  Bcott,"  1  laugh,  shrugging  my 
6)iiouldei-s. 

"  1  suppose  not.    And  T  like  you  just  as  you  are.  my  dear.    Have 

you  seen  tiie  latest  addition  to  Poppy's  tromst'au?    A  Louis  XVI. 

,momiDg-dress  ot  ruby  plush  with  pink  bows — we  must  make  her 

put  it  on  alter  luncheon.     It  is  most  becoming  to  Poppy,  though, 

'now,  1  think  it  is  a  ridiculous  style  for  the  morning — fancy 

on  plusli  with  pink  Buraii  bows." 

Poppy  Dcnne  is  a  tall  dark  girl,  with  a  marble- white  complexion 

nd  black  eyes.     Olive  is  quite  dillerent— a  little  plump  thing  with 

round  face,  a  pink  and  white  complexion,  veiy  lair  hair  in  a  wisp 

t  curl«  over  her  forehead,  and  a  pair  o!  very  saucy,  if  not  particu* 

rlv  handsome  eyes.     To  day  she  vvears  a  "  granny  "  bonnet  lined 

i.  and  a  coquettish  dress  of  navy-blue  and     -"i^— » 

niT  her  prettily  rounded  figure.     Also  she  \> 

■cause  she  linds  t^  ''  :i 

>  tney  improve  th;  -i- 

uluie^  in  her  tace. 

.e  of  Gounod's  ring^  in  mr  cars,"  she  suv?;,  ns  we 

r  of  the  house  in  Dextei  *'  Yon  ni  it 

,,_...  vi'*M  Mfi.Af  Mr.  iiave  crit.. jppy's  piusL  -,..  ,  _.  ' 

CHAPTER  ni. 

Ir  '■      '  ■ '  '   -^ — the  evening  of  the  i^o:;  v-ions   dance. 

I    .  .   seen   nothing  of  *^  the  Count  "  since  yester 

lay;  nob^uy  i^as  mtuiiuued  violets,  nobody  bus  accu-  f  pil 


16  rOE    LIFE    A2S"D    XOVE. 

Whether  he  is  in  the  house  or  D' 

,  ;;a-beeu  in  since  1  charged  his  dead  ca:*  .cu  oi 

le  "Woodhay  violets  yeslen'U.iy.     i  liave   -  ;d.  be- 

a  my  sili2:ii;j^-](?3sor>£  Hiid  my  visiis  to  1  fuiiy 

8uch  a  person    r:«  Mrs.   Wdiichope's   !  ntrec? 

?r  could  certcidiy  ind  no  room  in  my  ihr 

....  oi  anyone  now,  as  1  lean  back  in  my  c. ,.  .    .  „,.,^.... 

ch'dk,  wiiti  my  buckled  shoes  on  the  fender,  it  is  ot  Oussie  Deiii 
Poor  G\is  is  devoted  to  ine — has  been  devoted  to  »^  "  •^^•^'  ■  -^  --"  -• 
chiidren.     And  Gus  is  not  a  Iwid-Iookin>j:  fedow  ! 
is  a  little  fair  man,  ynd  I  do  not  lite  little  fair  men  <is  rv  ^";i-''.     ^riij 
then  he  is  a  captain  in  the  "  Bines,"  and  1  believe  he  ready  likes 
51)6.     1  do  not  care  ior  him,  of  course;  bvit  it  3«  fan  to  have  a  lov^r, 
i  have  had  a  good  many  lovers— so  at  k'S!^  ih?y  telJ  me-— but  1  have 
lip  to  this  time  walked""  in  maiden  meditation,  fnncy  free."    1  am 
2i0t  a  fiirt — nny  worst  enemy — if  1  bave  Jioy  enendcs— rr^r'd  not  ac- 
cuse me  of  fliriing.     It  is  an  {imu&cruent  which  1  h-.  e  and 
despise.     And  1  do  not  fiirt  with  Gus,  though  he  is  ji-    >.. .  always 
beoii  ray  "  chum."    He  dot^  not  care  to  he  called  my  chuna  now  eo 
"■'V  ■"  ■  •  he  used.     Olive  says  jt  is  because  he  thinks  "  sww?theart  " 

;•  word.     1  do  not  care  about  sweethearts.     I  shall  never  ' 
so  looiish  us  to  fall  in  love  with  any  one,     1  think  love  is  all  non- 
sense.    And  mtjst  of  the  icien  who  have  wanted  to  marry  me — i  d<* 
:iot  mean  poor  Gus,  oi  course;  and,  beside?,  he  never  si'kfd  me 
marry  him — were  in  love  with  Woodhay,  and  not  wiih  xV'l'C  ^cq: 
U  1  had  no  money  1  might  balieve  in  iare — a  iilllc;  i, 

do  not  believe  in  ii  at  ail. 

"  Shall  1  light  the  (.'sindles  on  your  dressing- tab' 

;Mi»ry  Aune's  voice  wakes  me  out  of  wl:  : 
Cfe'CTim  as  a  leverie.  ' 

"  Yiivdl  o'clock  is  it?"  I  afek,  yawniag. 

'"it  is  half -pa  St  seven,  ma'am.     Is  this  yt^!ir  ^Ir^  p;^''    T'l-  nrw.r- 
i%  for  you  and  lay  it  on  the  bed." 

The  back  drawing-room  is  my  bedroom,     i  .<.<.,v..  ..>  ..*.-.>... 
reluctantly — it  is  a  colli  night  even  for  March,  sharp  aad  frost} 
and  follow  Mary  Auiie  into  the  Inner  room,  wdiere  a  newiy-lightet: 
fire  burnfj  in  the  grate. 

"  Why  did:i't  you  light  that  before?"  I  ask,  shiverips^. 

**  TheCount — he  came  !n  uucxj)ectedly,  wanting  his  dinner,"  Slary 
Anne  answers,  kneehnt^  down  1o  put  f>ome  life  into  the  lire  by- means 
,)f  a  rdpid  fanning  with  her  apron,  "and  I  had  t->  attend' to  him. 
He's  jast  like  thafc  always — walking  in  when  he's  least  exjjectedc' 
Gentlemen  is  a  bother— you  never  know  when  they'll  be  in  and  when 
they  won'tl" 

1  take  out  mj  dieas  from  its  flat  pastebojird  box  myselt,  unwilling 
10  trust  it  to  the  t-ender   mercies  of  Mary  Anne's  grimy  fingers. 
There  is  a  note  from  Aimt  Rosa  in  the  box,  and  another  buuch  of  my 
detir  Woodhay  violets.     Aunt  Rosa  tells  me  no  nL".T? — O^pv  tvrn  ntl 
well  at  Yatten  len,  and  have  had  very  ooid  wejither 
her  note  and  \ahe  up  Ujc  viol^fes,  thinkir>s%  as  1  presR  .i  , 
prant  purple  blossoms  to  my  li[>s,  ot  the  de;»r  old  trees  at 
,'■'-■-"'  -yots  tkev 


ope  up  to  me,"  A  say  to  the  maid-ot-all-wor^ 
.  .:rtt,  fihe  can  for  iny  suHjt  tjie. 
will  muke  a  belter  aitejsipt  Hi  ^•(etHafc  me  into  mv 
(  olid,  and  will  not  perhaps  Itave  such  traces  or*  -' 
;st  ne<:twarily  paJ  upon  mv  sky-blue  laces.     1 
'■j?uai  si;,    ■     -     ■  • 
rouud  1 
vjuriiu^ia  a  light  iiatuiui  Iriiigt;  aLoui 
<*  the  DeaiifjH'  ctirriage  comes  lor  mo  1  rn 
;  the  diria:y  old- fashioned  glass  and  wondeiiug  wiia* 
':  (){  Til',  and  of  my  dress. 
it  i  sec  is«  is  a  tali  girl,  in  a  long  c»osely-fittinf;  cui' 

''■■■"< \-  of  o,,>,  .^..i-;,  ending  in  sjjshes  of  crepe  of  Uie  siitnc  cr'^* 
■..billowy  blue  skirt  lying  aion^  the  caq^et  like  the  cri 
'    mmer  sea— a  ffirl  with  a  pretty  white  neck  a-.  ' 
i'er  fair  nor  daik,  hut  of  a  curious  ash-color,  . 
'        ?  of  both,  with  a  nose  ne 
nor  f'VMiW — a  fir -e  that  ; 
lav,s  I  ,  yoL  a  fiu-e  which  Olive  ever  he  . 

pf  1o<  f)utthe»i  Olive  is  my  fri  ,      .fc;d;lu; 

•  by  lier  verdict.     What  I  know  niyselt  to  be  is  . 
'•  <f;iit  and  a  well  poised  hea<!i.  whose  outdoor  lite  ...... 

;'.nd  str.iight  limbs,  and  who.  oddly  enough,  has  a 
h.'ive  not  loolicd  out  of  the  tamily  tace  sinc«  my 
died,  about  a  hundred  years  asro. 

!■ .  jfravely  and  u'  '  ^  '        '\ 

..hoiKi'ft  aepressi; 
ii.  I  hour  the  Oount's  \  , ail's,  u:  ; 

■  hr«rf  heats  quicker  for  .  t.     Cau 

til  the  dead  "  buitonhole  "  if    But  no;  he 

!;.  ;  J^Frs.  Wauchope  comes  down-stall's,  pu 

;■  freely  a^ain.     I  gatlier  up  my  gloves  anti 
•   .  .ulets  nestling  near  my  heart,  th<'  '^"'v  -•"' •  ' 
kyey  dress.jand,  walkuigjnto  the  di 
■anjw  not  wlijU  spirit  oi  mischief  or  Oi  ii'nv,  i  >: 
'•  :no  and  bes^n  Jo  sing  *'  Thy  voice  is  near."    ido  nci 
Li  .  "■  .'tics,  I  feel  s?        ' 

<ii  .   were,  who 

.iiitL  iCvl  Ilia  «0  eiliiC    li^t'iilt 


af,  you're  by  far  the  nicesft  girl  in  liw  roomi" 
S^,  ot  courrie. 

ho  has  been  my  part- 

aoaiH.'Ui»ol  Who  14  iiutt  geuiiuttiaia  who  has  juvt  come 

are  stemming  near  a  cioorway.    Gus  and  Qiixo  both  turn  tueif 


18  I'OK    LIFE    A.TSD    LC 

•'  Wbicli  gentleman?"   Olive  asks,  blinki. 
tacles. 

**  Oh,  he  has  moved  on  now — you  can't  see  him  with  the  cpowdl' 

*'  Why  did  you  nskV"  Gus  Bfxys.  "Was  there  anything  remark- 
able about  hiia?" 

''  He  Wiis  remarkably  handsome,  that  was  all." 

**  Oh!"  says  Gus,  screwing  ids  glass  inlo  his  eye, 

*'  [  know  evf^rylxjily  here,"  OTive  remarks,  iook*  r.d  the 

room,"    "If  you  see  him  again  when  1  am  in  your  i    ii,j  w/rhood, 
point  him  out  to  me,  and  I  am  almost  sure  to  k^iow  who  he  ia. 
A.llie,  you  look  jolly;  1  hope  you  are  enjoying  yourself  as  mueh  i 
you  seem  to  be  doing. " 

*'  OU,  quite  as  muciil" 

"  1  am  having  such  fun  with  him,"  Olive  says,  glancfctx  after  her 
late  partner,  with  a  world  ot  mischief  in  lier  sauc}  i  face. 

"  Ee  is  so  siily — you've  no  idea  what  a  donkeyhe*  i jL  him- 
self!" 

"  You'd  better  not  make  a  donkey  of  yourself,"  Gus  remarlvs  se- 
verely. 

*' Oh,  he  doesn't  know  I'm  laughing  at  himl  Hen  are  so  vain, 
they  would  think  anything  sooner  than  that  you  were  making  fun 
of  them," 

"  You  know  a  lot  about  them!"  says  Gus,  with  a  glance  of  broth- 
erly scorn  directed  downward  at  his  pretty  little  sister, 

"  I  know  enough  to  know  that.  Here  is  Caj)tain  C:;  oming 

for  me.    And  tliere  is  the  *  Weit  von  Dir.*    Oh,  Aliie,  don^t  waste 
a  note  of  that  delicious  waltz. !"  - 

Ten  minutes  hder,  1  am  in  Olive's  neighborhood  again,  this  time 
Waiting  for  Fred  to  bring  me  an  ice. 

"  There  is  the  man  I  mean,  Olive — standinir  with  liis  back  to  the 
wall — the  tall  cihrk  one,  talking  to  Colonel  RoUeston. " 

"Yes;  1  observed  him  just  now.  1  thouglit  I  kn'^-^  everybody 
here;  but  I  do  ncvt  know  who  he  is,  nor  does  Cap<:'  wi.  Isn't 

he  splendidly  huudsome,  AUie?  1  don't  think   i  ;•  cr.ch   r« 

handsome  lace  in  my  life." 

"  He  is  very  handsome,"  1  answer,  glancing  .-. -^~o 

boy— for  he  scarcely  seems  more  than  that— as  he  stt.  ;ng  to. 

Colonel  Roileston,  and  looking  with  splendid  card-   '-  w.>at  the 

room.     His  face  is  dark,  abnost  to^eign-look!Ii^^  ;  straignf 

nose,  a  slight  dark  mustache,  and  a.  pair  of  the  r.ios.-  beau'':' 
Seice,  tender,  laughing,  long-laslied  eyes  1  liave  ev^er  seen. 

"  1  shall  get  Katie  lloHeston  to  tell  me  his  name,"  CV 
as  her  partner  whirls lier  away;  and  Fred  returning  wi;  ,,  .. 

and  the  waltz  piU  everything  else  out  of  my  head. 

It  is  nearly  half  an  hour  later  when  somebody  introduces  me  to  • 
partner  for  the  coming  wnltz  whose  name  I  do  not  catch;  and, 
looking  round  carelessly,  still  talking  to  young  liolleaton,  I  And  the 
unknown  standing  betore  me  with  his  eyes  fixed  inquiringly  on  my 
face. 

1  accept  him,  of  course,  and  walk  away  with  hi  ;ug  I  ha 

caught  his  name.  He  is  a  rather  silent  p;>rtner,  appt  r.jij.L;  'o  i)e  more 
♦mxlous  to  study  me  than  to  make  himself  aLrrfcs^^*"  ?^nii  -ivhfttcver  he 
'ioQs  say  is  clever  and  amusing,  and  so  bo;.  :'A^&o 


.     .  .      ,    AND    LOVE.  1^ 

:r«?aing  after  the  "  societj  '*  talk  to  Tvhich  1  bnve  been 

i\             I  to  listen  for  the  last  two  hours.     Ilf  1,  and 

fe              -w  to  take  care  of  his  partner.     Once,  v.  'y  by 

aoi.*iuent  puts  his  foot  on  my  dress,  he  turns  roui'  1 

fiaali  of  the  eye  which  brings  >Mrs.  Waucliop^'s  *  .  :  ;i -er 

•  to  njy  miiKl.     And  once  or  twice  I  find  hira  ]  :  v\ithan 

xprcssiou  which  puzzles  me  a  little.     It  is  not  ..>.  nor  crit- 

•isin,  nor  depreciation;   but  it  is  easier  to  asy  v  not  than 

'.  hat  it  is — rather  a  mixture  of  amusement  and  c  if  try. 
iu^  to  read  some  riddle  in  my  face. 

When  tlie  waltz  is  over,  he  resigns  me  to  Gu  jast  p'V 

...")wn  his  ua)ne  opposite  to  tlse  only  disc^ng'agcd  '  rnv  prr- 
gramme,  a   mazoiirka     I  can  make  noihiiii;  of 
scrav/led  in  pencil;  but  1  fancy  tlie  last  letter  or 
>ke"B.". 

"  Is  that  your  handsome  man?"  Gus  asks,  loo'  ., .   ^..^  us 
e.makes  his  way  slowly  through  the  crowd. 

"  Yes,"  1  answer  at  once.     "  l!i<i  you  know  L:o  . 

*'  Don't  you  know  it?" 

**  >Jo;  1  could  not  calcli  it  when  he  was  Intro  '  me." 

•*  Why,  that  is  Baxter — Gerard  Baxter,  flie  ;  a  clever  fel 

low,  but  no  '  sui}^'  in  him.    It  he  had,  he  would  have  made  a  nao..' 
for  himself  long  ago." 

**  He  looks  a  mere  boy." 

"  He  is  One-and-twenty.  He  could  paint  pictures  if  he  liked;  but 
he  won't  take  tlie  trouble.  Jack  IlolleRtou  knows  him  well;  but 
T've  only  met  him  once  or  twice.     Helms  been  aw:)y  in  Scotland  for 

e  last  month  or  two,  sketching.  1  don't  consider  Lim  so  very 
liundsome." 

i  think  Gus  is  a  liftle  jealous,  oi  1  would  think  so  !f  I  liad  time  to 
think  of  anything   but    my  own  astonishment.      ^  is  Mrs. 
Wauchope's  lodger;  tlds  is  the  Count;  thu-^is  the  v,  zier.  tlie 
man  whom  1  christened  Ginx's  Baby!     It  is  ^  lish- 
ing,  it  is  not  to  be  believed!    The  "epis<Mle  o;  .  cs  to 
iny  recollection — the  words  1  hatl  so  impudent)  da  vei\ 
evening— sung  to  him!    It  is  well  tor  me  that  he  ]  a  who  i 
am — w^ould  never  dream  of  identifymg  me  with  .  iichoi^e's 
i^inster  tenant  "  of  a  certain  age."     Aunt  Rosa  v. >  ^  mive  good 
reason  to  be  ashamed  of  me  it  she  knew  what  prt;al:;>  1  have  in  en 
playing— -giwd  reason  to  say  that  she  was  right  .  '           ,  :    ;> 
iil)0ut  the  advisability  of  my  coudng  up  alone  lo  C; 
t9l>all  never  be  so  foolish  again.     I  ought  to  have  !-eusc— 
a  girl  of  verj''  nearly  one-and-twenty  I    il  has  tieen  .  )  me  nol 
to  be  carried  away  by  the  wild  spirits  which  have  biine  al- 
ways, the  lov«  of  ad  venture  which  my  gt)od  aunt  :en  tried 
10  nip  in  the  bud!    It  I  had  known  that  Mrs.  AV;'  ^  "four- 
pair-back  "  was  a  i>er»on  like  this,  1  should  nm  '  •  ^m  v'-n 
\7bat  my  laggaixl  sense  of  propriety  now  St igr.,: 
*:...,!  4..;, .  j^jj-  jj^j,  more  silly  because  the  victim  ^^  ;  i  knoA 
irateil  it.     Standing  with  Gus  near  the  :  1  of  tlu' 
room,  1  v/isU  devoutly  thnt  1  lirv.i  nol  !•:            '  '  :  •  - 
What  it  I  should  be  foolish  enough  !o  i 
Wauchope's  *'  d rawing- roojiu"?   WuaL  ii  he  t;.  :■   ^ 


ri  '.  cool  to  him,  vety  rcscrv 

•u.::a  U.S. ;;:>.,  bu  \l,;^  ukj  rit'.i  ci  ti^s./ii-  sucli  a  question  j^hall  aevtr 
eiiier  ir»io  l)is  heail.  1  am  »orry  now  that  1.  got  iny.seif  into  tliis 
sempe— I  should  like  to  iiavekno'wQ  nijtellow-Iodger  who  is  so  poor 
And  so  proad.  Bull  have  made  any  f  aither  acquaintance  with  him 
impotssible,  all  through  that  wretched  littJe  bunch  of  violets! 

i  avoid  his  look  i'or  the  veii  of  the  evening,  though  more  than 
once  1  am  conscious  that  he  is  quietly  studying  me.  Gus  aeems 
mther  annoyed  at  my  absence  of  mind.  Once  or  twice  he  hiis  offered 
me  a  penny  for  thoughts  which  1  certainly  would  not  have  commu- 
nicated to  him  for  a  great  many  pounds.  Retribution  has  not  beea 
long  in  following  on  the  heels  of  my  offense;  but  I  hope  the  lesson 
will  be  a  salutary  one,  and  congratulate  myself  that  jio  worse  mis- 
chief has  beiailen  me. 

The  dance  I  have  begun  to  dread  has  come  at  last — the  dance  iot 
which  1  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Baxter.  He  comes  up  at  the  first  notes 
of  the  mazourlS). 

"  Tliis  is  ours,  1  think?'* 

^  lake  his  arm;  and,  as  I  take  it,  my  heart  gives  a  sudden  bound 
of  dismay.  In  the  button-hole  of  his  somber  evening  coat  he  weara 
-—a  bunch  of  half- withered  violets! 

*'  This  has  been  a  pleasant  evening,'*  he  says,  when  we  have  taken 

a  couple  of  circuits  of  the  room. 

'*  Yes,"  1  answer  vaguely,  my  hep.rt beating  fast. 

"  Small  dances  like  this  are  much  more  enjoyable  than  gigantic 
crushes — don't  you  think  so?" 

"Yes." 

After  the  first  glance  at  the  violets,  I  do  not  dere  to  look  at  them. 
Any  one  might  wear  violets — almost  e7ery  one  wears  violets  iii 
March.  But  tiiese  are  my  violets-— I  know  it  intuitively,  lliough 
why  he  fihi)uld  care  to  wear  them,  having  now  clew  to  the  giver, 
puzzles  me  more  than  the  name  of  the  giver  can  have  puzzled  him. 

*'  You  do  not  go  out  much?" 

"  No,"  1  answer,  wondering  if  the  remark  is  a  question  or  an  a: 
sertioa.     If  it  is  an  assertion,  how  does  lie  know? 

"  wShall  we  tflite  another  turn,  or  are  you  tired?" 

"  1  am  not  tifred,"  1  say,  thinking  what  an  amusing  companion  he 
must  find  me. 

We  take  a  few  more  turns,  and  then  come  to  a  stand-still.  Mr. 
3axter  seems  to  prefer  to  talk. 

"  Tnii  ars  foEid  of  violets?" — ^glancing  at  the  bouquet  in   m^ 

A  I  Li-sa  of  foolish,  guirty  crimson  dyes  my  cheeks  which  1  would 
tiave  given  worlds  to  have  kept  out  of. them.     But  it  comes  there, 
1  lid  it  stays,  while  my  partner  lowers  his  dark  imperial  head  to  lo*'^ 
.ato  my  half -frightened,  half -defiant  eyes. 

"  Very  i<md,  1  nnswei-  glibly,  **  1  think  every  oae  is  fond  (ki 
Tlolets." 

"  1  am,**  he  aays,  smihag  a  little. 

*'  You  must  be,  to  wear  so  poor  a  hunch.** 

**  You  wouM  not  ea"  lhe?n  Door,  unless—** 

"  Unless  whai?" 


FOR     Llri:.     A.NU     ijyjy  *^"' 

'  iNc  matter,"  he  returas,  laughinr     **  ^^  *  Tory  ^k 

cdt  you  to  di^ipftmge  my  violets." 

"  It  ii^        ■    '  \'d.    1  hope  you  wir  is 

t&j.t.  \m'  1-5  on  au  entirely  "w  .)•> 

";  riiere  Is  nothing  to  forgive,     lou  only  spoke  tl 

iinih  when  you  said  my  rioUjts  were  a  llUle  iadeU — Ih^y  w^re  bad:/ 
t,     *  M!    nooi' little  flowers!" 

was  that?"  1  smk  innocently. 
•  •^li,"  he  says  delibex'ately,  looking  not  at  r  \9 

iolets,  "they  were  given  to  me  by  a  Jady  wiv  >t 

'jino\7.     And,' if  1  hud  nofc  fortunately  discovered  i»;,>u  in  uuse,  lui  ' 
uoihi  hnve  died  for  want  of  water  in  a  dusty  glass." 

"  1  observe  quietly,  looking  past  liim  "        rs. 

;ud  ot  her,  was  it  not — to  me — not  to 
'  t^o  much  depends  upon  her  motive,"  1  answc  .,y,  wc. 

tiering  if  he  knows. 

'  She  could  have  had  but  one  motive." 
'And  that?" 

**  Well,"  he  saya,  smiling,  **  1  do  not  know  that  1  OBght  to  teil  you 
Whatl  think." 

"  You  think  so  badly  of  heil"  I  exclaim,  the  Iroubiesome  crimson 
lifihing  to  my  cheelis  again. 

'  If  I  thought  bndly  of  her,  should  1  wear  her  violets?** 
'  She  never  meant  you  to  know  who  left  them  for  you  probably- " 
Prob;ii)]y." 

say  you  do  not  know  her  nanie?" 
^  L..i  notknow  her  name." 
"'But  you  knov/  it  now?" 
■  Yef?,  1  know  it  now." 
'-*  And  it  is—" 
Be  shakes  his  head. 

"  1  know  you  do  not  think  so  badly  of  me  as  to  supposo  1  wonld 
an.5wer  that  question. ' ' 

I  brealho  a  great  sigh  of  relief.     He  does  not  know  tljeo — he  dov 
ot>t  connect  me  with  the  suspr  -ty,  whoevrv  .  Per- 

haps he  thinks  it  was  tiie  you.  ss'Pryce!    Tw    ^  ,   Id  me 

they  sometimes  got  flowers  up  from  the  country. 
"  i<h('  «;<mrcely  deserve*  so  much  conaiUeratiou  at  ycwr  hands/'  I 

.  iiv  not?"  he  asks,  with  a  laughing  loo]-  ^'•"'T'  ""-^'"- »'-     "- 
^ei^i^hes. 

"  It  is  "a  lady's  nlace  to  oend  violets  lo  a  gcnuemaii,  cv. 

.".  ?be  wc.  inted  with  him." 

'  You  ^roauu  are  very  hard  upon  each  other." 
Not  so  lj:ud  ns   you    are,  perhaps,"   I  say,  a  little  bifferV 
-w  you  t  '  woman  who  stnt  you  those  violets 

to  von  ''ly  worrtiy  of  vr>v.v  r«i«i-)©ct." 

iry,"  he  aat»w€r>  /,  '*  1  know  she  did  k  oi 

-..^  —  --^  Viiiiiresg — J^: ^,.  ;.;ii3:iAd  wiih  a  spice  of  mi- 

f.     And  -  :  v.rotiki  never  know  it — I  am  very  sare  si) 

;■'  lided  thai  i  m-.ii  .-.fUidl" 
There  are  te.trs  of  morlilieji^ion  in  my  eyes  that  ^  lave  lov; 


SI  FOR    LUFE    A^9    JjdVlS. 

cred  myseti  oy  doing  tliis  foolish  thing.  How  1  hate  tiiose  miserable 
violets,  how  1  wish  the^  had  withered  amona:  their  native  terns  and 
mosses  under  tlie  elms  and  chestnuts  at  Woodhay,  before  they 
tempted  me  to  rc^ke  such  s.  fool  of  myself! 

"  You  seem  to  take  it  to  h»art,"  Mr.  Baxter  says,  looking  down  at 
me.  1  suppose  1  look  very  crxjss  and  disngreeabie.  "  1  am  sorry  1 
told  yoa  anylhiag  about  it.  Do  you  care  to  try  the  mazourke  again?'* 
"  No,  Ih.ank  yuu.  1  do  not  care  to  dance  any  more." 
*'  Miss  Scott,"  he  says,  standing  before  me,  and  sfjeaking  gravely 
enough  now,  **  1  mrtst  ask  you  to  foigive  me.  1  am  ashamed  of 
myself  for  having  spoken  of  what  I  should  have  kept  secret. — of 
wiKit  1  ought  to  iiave  taken  for  just  as  much  as  it  was  worth.  The 
violets  were  put — where  1  found  them — in  jest,  and  1  have  worn 
them  in  earnest.  I  had  no  right  to  do  it;  and,  if  you  will  returo 
them  to  the  owner,  1  will  expiate  my  fault  by  giving  them  up  to 
you." 

He  takes  the  bunch  of  withered  violets  from  his  button-hole  ten- 
derly in  the  tips  ot  his  white-gloved  fingers,  and  hands  them  to  me. 

"  It  Costs  me  more  than  you  think  to  give  them  up,"  he  says,  look- 
ing at  them  wislfuily. 

"  I  think  she  would  not  refuse  to  let  you  keep  them,  whoever  she 
is,"  1  answer,  laughing,  witk  such  a  sudden  change  of  mood  that  it 
even  puzzles  myself. 

*'  You  think  thatl"  he  questions  eaoerly. 

*'  They  do  not  look  very  v^aluable,  do  they?" 

**  Because  they  are  a  little  withered.  1  value  them — more  than 
ywi  know." 

"  Take  them  then,"  I  say  carelessly,  feeling  that  Gus  is  watching 
me,  and  that  to  keep  Mr.  Baxter's  violets  would  look  more  remark- 
able than  merely  to  inliaie  their  fragrance  and  hand  them  back 
again.  "Take  them,  and  pfiy  her  the  further  compliment  of  for- 
getting the  folly  which  put  them  into  your  possession." 

*'  And  will  you  aslv  her,"  he  says  eagerly,  "  to  pardon  my  pre- 
sumption in  darin<r  to  pretend  that  1  misinterpreted  her  gracious 
gilt?" 

"  If  she  can  tvn  j^ive  herself,  she  may  veiy  well  extend  her  forgive- 
ness to  you,"  1  auswer,  gathering  up  my  billowy  train  in  my  hand 
s  1  stand  beside  him,  looking  very  tall  and  slim  and  dignified  out- 
/ardly,  but  within  feeling  several  degrees  smallei  thanl  have  ever 
Jit  in  my  'ite  before.  "  X^'or  my  part,  1  do  not  see  how  she  can  eve" 
orgive  herself." 

**  She  need  not  blame  herself,"  he  says,  looking  down  at  me  from 
_:is  superior  Iteight  with  a  smile  which  dIr-T>;f;asc;s"mo  by  reu^^on  of  its 
undisguised  amusement. 

**  1  do  not  suppose  slie  blames  herself  verymiicii,"'  i  reiurn  delib- 
erately, Miih  tJ^o  careless  insolence  with  which  1  think  to  recover  my 
own  coucoit.     "It  would  be  diflereut,  you  know,-  if  you  were—" 

"  Anyfivri^  hut  a  poor  k-indscape-puintcr. ''  he  interrupt s,  at  no 

loss  to  cr  ;d  my  insolent  pause.     "She  would  never  have 

dared  to  ,  ue  had  thought  him  her  equjil.     Flie  •■.•(■(; Id  never 

i  to  do  it  if  filie  had  dreamod  ot  liself 

.'Oi'i.^lv  wliiitti  she  ■t!(.M,T,-r.T>;  " 


POB    LIFE    AND    LOYK.  2i 

His  6am  eres  have  blazed  up  quite  suddenly,  a  ^wa  not  thought 
ijley  r  .   '  '    '         •  like  llmt. 

"  P.  though  1  think  she  was  more  to  Wain©  for  that 

very  rciisi/a,  '  1  answer,  with  a  slight,  almost  imperceptible  move- 
ment of  my  shoulders. 

*'  1  tiduk  w).  1  would  rather  take  a  liberty  with  an  equal  than 
withaniiil  rior  rav^elt,"  he  says  quite  quietly,  but  with  au  indescrib' 
able  intieciion  of  voice  which  enraires  me. 

*'  It  was  a  liberty/'  I  ncquieace,  with  cheeks  which  have  deepened 
Into  criRison  again.  "  You  are  ri,^hL  when  you  call  it  a  lil)eity.  It; 
was  a  nia-?t  unpardonable  libertv.' 

"  I  did  not  say  so.  1  merely  said  that  1  should  not  presume  on 
difffTf-nce  ot  rank  to  play  a  trick  upon  another  person — that  waa 
What!  said," 

**  1  played  no  triclc  upon  you!"  1  exclaim  indignantly. 

**  You!"  lie  repeats,  his  face  changing  suddenly  back  from  angry 
storm  to  amustxnent.  "  1  never  accused  youl  We  are  talking  of 
another  person." 

"  Oh,  yes,  ot  another  person!"  I  agree,  moving  away  with  the  in- 
solently disdainful  air  which  had  infuriated  him.  "  Ot  a  person  who 
ought  to  regret  biiierly  that  she  so  far  forgot  herself  as  to  put  it  into 
your  power  lo  insult  her." 

He  is  holding  the  bunch  of  violets  still  in  his  hand.  As  I  turn 
away,  he  lets  them  fall,  and  sets  his  heel  upon  them,  giinding  them 
into  the  floor.  1  pity  Mrs.  Holleston's  Bnissels  carpet  more  thaii  i 
pity  the  violrt^,  which  have  done  me  too  much  miischiet  to  expect 
sympathy  tiom  me  in  their  ignominious  emi. 

"  Oh,  here  j'ou  are,  AUie!  We've  been  searching  for  you  every- 
where.    Mamma  is  going  home." 

Olive  conips  up  to  me  Wrealhless,  Gus,  at  some  distance  behind 
her,  looking  black  as  thunder. 

v«  ;itly."  I  answer,  without  a  glance  at  my  late  companion, 
rveled  with  your  handsome  cavalier,  Allie?" 
1  him,  Olive?" 

if  you  were  quarreling  like  anything  just  now." 
.  llolleston  cares  to  ask  such  people  to  her  house, 
don  I  think  that  man  has  the  smallciiit  pretensions  to  be 
Galled  a  genticraan." 

Olive  iauvlts,  looking  at  me 

"Ah,  i  hee  you  have  qmureled!"   she  says,  shinvin:;  ;i.;!    n-  i.^. 

\llio,  I'm  afrciid  you  are  going  to  tall  in  love  %iih  Mr,  Gerard 


*^1 

am 

"1 

Olive. 

1 

CHAPTER  rv. 

Tmi  fv*n  days,  even  to  myself.  1  ignore  the  existence  v .  ....  ^.. ,' 
I  never  mention  his  name  to  either  Mrs.  W.iuchope  or 
:.  nor  do  they  mention  his  name  to  me.     1  faofy  he  is  in 
1  fancy  1  hear  liis  knock  ac  the  door  sometimes;  but  1 


t.  Olid  I  .  u'tt  '■  Jir^cliaiiuii,  '  fco  i*).,.  i  do  uoi  huU  time 


FOE    LIFE    AKD    LOVE. 

3i\g  heavily  oq  my  hands.  1  spend  the  mornings  at  Madame  CiotSr 
ielm's,  and  very  often  lunch  with  the  Deanes,  onuy  coming  back  to 
Jiirieton  Street  at  about  four  o'clock  in  the  aflernooo.    it  is  colli, 
Jsagreeabie  weather,  with  an  east  wind  which  reddens  one's  nor^ 
;mri  eyelids  and  makes  my  lire  and  hammock-chair  very  pleasant  1 
the  evenings,  which  would  be  getting  shorter  every  day  now,  if  1  dia 
not  pull  down  the  blinds  early,  and  so  shut  out  the  dull  March  twi- 
light, which  is  so  cheerless  and  so  loug. 

One  afternoon— the  third  since  the  BollestonsJ*  dance^ — 1  hear  a 
knock  at  the  door,  which  1  teel  sure  is  Olive's  knock;  and,  having 
my  hat  and  jacket  on,  and  having  promised  not  to  keep  her  waiting 
L  she  called  tor  me,  1  run  down-stairs  to  meet  her  in  tie  hall.  But, 
astead  of  Olive  in  her  blue  and  cardinal  dress,  1  come  ralhei  vio- 
ontly  against  a  young  man  in  a  drab-eolored  overcoat,  who  stands 
back  to  let  me  pass,  pulling  o&  his  hat  as  he  endeavors  to  place  him- 
self as  dally  ns  possible  against  the  wall. 

1  recognize  hiui  in  a  moment,  as  1  have  no  doubt  he  recognizes 
me.  But  1  brush  by  him  brusquely,  without  looking  ap.  Before  I 
have  passed  him,  1  regret  having  so  far  forgotten  iiii^eit,  whatever 
his  otfense;  bat  when  1  glance  up,  he  is  lookiog  straight  before 
him,  ignoring  me  as  utterly  as  if  1  were  the  plaster  figure  of  a  boy 
with  a  basket  on  his  head  which  standi  before  the  window  with  the 
painted  blind  on  the  landing.  The  whole  incident  does  not  occupy 
half  a  minute — it  is  over  almost  before  1  am  conscious  that  it  hai^ 
happened.  But  it  leaves  an  uncomfortable  impression  on  my  mind, 
which  1  cannot  shake  oil. 

1  walk  aloug  the  sunny  side  of  the  gloomy  old  brown-brick  street, 
looking  out  for  Olive,  whom  1  hope  to  meet  before  I  reach  the  cor- 
ner; but  all  the  time  1  am  wondering  whether  Mr.  Gerard  Baxter 
"  cut"  me,  or  whether  I  might  be  supposed  to  have  administered 
that  process  to  him.  I  have  acted  with  unpardouable  rudeness,  n© 
doubt;  but,  if  1  had  bowed  to  him,  would  he  have  dared  to  pretend 
not  to  see?  Long  after  1  meet  Olive  Deane  the  question  annoys  me 
-—it  follows,  me  into  !&iadame  Cronhelra's  house,  into  the  great 
crowded  ch.ss  room.  For  the  first  time  my  music-lesson  bores  me; 
Hen  von  KOnig's  ilUiatrations  of  tiie  weird  melodious  music  of 
"Faust,"  as  compared  with  the  silver-sweet  cadences  of  Rossini, 
do  not  interest  me;  and  Madame Cionhelm  accuses  me  rather  sharp, 
ly  once  or  twice  of  singing  out  o^  tune.  It  is  not  till  1  find  myself 
in  the  great  untidy  drawing-room  at  Dexter  Square,  looking  at  Pop- 
py's  latest  v^edding-present,  that  tlie  uncomfortable  feeling  of  hav- 
ing acted  wutruly  to  myself  begins  to  wear  away.  1  exorcise  it 
clnefly  by  a  resolution  not  to  treat  Mr.  Baxter,  should  1  ever  meet 
fcim  again,  as  it  1  were  indeed  the  "  village  maiden  "  with  whose 
fancy  for  a  landscape-painter  Olive  is  always  taunting  me. 

This  evening,  while  1  am  at  dinner,  Mrs.  Wauc'uope  comes  in  to 
ask  me  how  1  iiijed  a  pudding  she  made  for  me,  beciiuse  it  used  to  be 
a  favorite  of  mine  long  ago  at  Woodhay,  when  1  was  a  child.  From 
the  ])udding  our  conWrsativn  wanders  away  to  other  matters— the 
dcarness  of  everything  in  i*ondon,  how  she  manages  m  the  way  of 
catering  for  her- lodgers, 

*'  1  do  the  best  1  can  for  them,*'  she  says,  *'  especially  for  the  po<: 
?oung  in;-n  upstairs.     Aaothtir  Derson  nliaht  not  troa^Jie  hei"  heu--, 


FOja    LIFE    AKD    LOTS,  S§ 

vhetUer  his  beef-steak  was  tough  or  not;  but  1  take  just  as 
'  "  '  ■  ualsasl  dc  ahoat  your  ov/n.  I'm  not  one 
ii'j  (vajDiiot  alTord  grand  joints.  'Many  a 
■.;e  I  vi;  ^'.;.;c  Qc.i  ci  luy  way  to  j<et  a  chop  or  a  enliel  cheaper  lor 
m^  IboiiL'h  he'd  never  know  .^*; — ay,  and  added  a  bit  of  mj  own  to 
uio.  In  a  b';usc  lik«  this,  -wbcre  there  is  so  much  going*  nobody 
ould  IB1S&  a  couple  «/f  sJicea  of  butcher's  meat." 

Is  he  perchance  fed  trom  tlie  joint  that  lett  my  table,  this  proud 

m  who  had  dared  to  tell  nie  that  i  had  taken  a  lil)erty  In 

;  him   ;\'Jth  a  bunch  of  violets?    'i'he  tlioui^ht  ^ives  me 

,ii— tills  me  with  a  HUle,  small,  womanly  triumph  ot  which  a 

»'0uld  have  felt  ashamed. 

'*  1  Know  he's  Liird  up  sometimes,  poor  lad!"  Mr«.  Wauchope 
";cs  on.  "He  wouldn't  say  so  to  save  his  lite;  but  ne  landliidies 
aow  more  than  people  think.     Aud  somehow  1  feci  more  for  th 

oud  distant  oncij,  taat  wouldn't  tdl  you  theiriroubies  if  they  were 
<irv/ag,  than  for  them  that  make'^  a  poor  mouth  aoout  themselves, 
id  i:<  always  down  on  tlieir  luck.*' 

Hnd  1  dared  to  insult  him,  and  he   vso  poor  a;  : 3Iy  mind 

^es  me  tor  having  brushed  by  him  so  cavalieriy  this  mominsf 

■^ire,  tor  having  spoken  to  hiiu  so  rudel}'  the  other  night  in 

,^trect.     lie  must  have  cared  tor  those  unfortunate  vioiets, 

id  never  have  worn  them,  half  withered  as  Uiey  were;  aud 

veT^d  him  so  luuch  that  he  had  ground  tiiem  with  Ids 

1  am  ashamt^d  and  augiy,  with  a  vague  imcom- 

hjving  made  a  fool  of  nr\  .•?eif  besides.     The  next 

ii!  act  diiterently,  though  it  is  a  iact  thit  1  am 

i'or  having  put  me  out  of  conceit  with  myseit. 

-t  time  1  meet  him  t^.e  turns  the  tables  upon  me — sup- 

.  .     ,w  have  been  the  aggressor  in  the  first  ins.taace.     lam 

;.»  into  the  house  as  he  i^Jasse?  out,  an<i  he  never  so  ranch  as 

^.si  at  mo  t;  "other  1  mean  to  take  any  notice  of  him  or  not. 

i  that  he  h:-  virtually  put  an  end  to  our  acquaintance. 

"*?d,  though  he  may  pi-ssibiy  think  it  was 
:nori!  that  introduetion  at  the  Koiiestous*. 
c  my  wirh,  aud  that  1  would  have  bowed 
;^ot  the  '"liauce,  aud  his  looking  io  thai  de- 
••mincl  my  head  niakes  me  i«'el  very  angry.     However  1 

^  "•^'  '■'^-  -iiu  sgum  in  Carleton  Street  or  anywhere  else  lor 

.  and,  though  Mrs.  Wauchope  teils^me  that  he  i 
:  he  usi?d  to  be,  and  woridng  hard  at  his  picture, 
his  rudeneijs  nnd  my  own  fo^ly  in  bu^y  prepara- 
'  ti's  concert,  which  is  i6  take  place  o;. 
;.     1  am  to  smg  twice    first  the  "  .' 
•iki  *•  i  aii.  t."  il',en  Dluinentlmrs  "  Bend  of  the  Ri . 
Ion  is  .MtJilame  Cronhelm's;  but  i)oths<mgs  fo-o  old  fr 
:  4ti!r.i'-»«nd  old  favovitcfi.     ficrr  von  KOnig  tells  me  1  had  bc.tci 
.^•e  ;-};!  ^•.  ■.'';•,;  vt^:'Clv.   r!.;.'.\i   I   ror;- to  repeat  those  two;  but  1  tci'. 

very  unlucky  thing  to  do,  l* 

rmorarui  O'ive  n«vinA  n»i!1  ff»r  me 


S6  FOE    LI1?E    AKD    LOVE. 

but  merely  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  girls.  They  are  to  give  a  fancy  baS 
early  in  April,  and  we  amuse  ourselves  T\ilh  port  folios  of  sketches 
of  national  and  fancy -dresses,  sitting  in  the  great  handeorae  somber 
city  drawing-room,  -^-ith  it>.<  balconies  darkened  by  tlovrering  plants 
--■five  or  six^girh  altogether,  with  two  kindred  spirits  iu  the  shape  of 
Fred  Der-ue  an;l  Craiitord  Rolleston,  who  are  quite  as  good  on  the 
subjecl  ot  ladies'  dres«  as  oui selves. 

Katie  and  Craiiford  Rolleston  and  1  are  studying  a  colored  print 
of  jui  Al?c;cian  togeiher,  and  I  am  saying  how  pretty  the  black 
, velvet  cap  would  look  on  a  blonde  head  like  Olive's,  when  two 
jQeople  come  into  the  loofn  whom  i,  s^jarcely  looking  up,  and  even 
then  scarce]}'-  seeing  them  in  the  dusk,  supjxosed  to  be  Jack  Rolles- 
ton and  his  "brother- in-Uiw  Captain  Kingsie}'- — one  of  them  1  know 
to  be  Jfick.  They  stroll  over  to  a  group  at  one  of  the  windows— 
Oliv^^d  Poppy  and  Susie  Rolleston,  and  1  think  no  more  about 
them,  till  Cranf*  rd  says  suddcjdy — 

"  That  artist  over  there  ought  to  make  a  sketch  for  you,  Katicr- 
someihing  original,  you  know.  Anything  original  would  be  so 
much  moie  interesting  than  these  old  hackneyed  national  costumes 
— everybody  is  tired  to  death  of  them.  1  say,  Gerard,  couldn't  you 
invent  something  newer  than  a  Swiss  peasant  or  a  vioandi^re  ?'*  • 

The  moment  he  Bays,  "  Gerard  "  1  look  up.     Mr!  Baxter  is  cross- 
ing the  room  slowly;  in  another  moment  he  has  shaken  hands  with 
Katie,  and  i-s  looking  halt  inquiringly,  halt  deprecatingly,  at  m:- 
Here  is  the  opportunity  I  have  been   longing  for,  and  yet  son:; 
stran'^e  perversiiy  makes  me  look  steadily  in  another  direction,  as 
though  1  saw  him  not. 

**  I  am  not  much  of  a  hand  at  figures,"  Mr.  Baxter  says,  without 
any  pause  of  snq^rise,  or  anger,  or  embarrassment.  '*  1  never  put 
them  into  my  pictures  it  1  can  h(!lp  it,  and,  when  1  do,  1  leave  tlifim 
as  much  as  possible  to  the  imagination.  But  1  dare  say  I  might  sug- 
gest some  characters,  and  then  you  could  find  out  the  dret>s  they 
uust  Wf.ar— or  invent  it," 

*'  Oh,  do"  Katie  exclaims,  making  room  for  him  on  the  ottomaa 
beside  her,  and  not  observmg  that  he  and  1,  whom  she  had  seen 
dancing  together,  had  taken  no  notice  of  each  othei.  "That  will 
be  delightful;  won't  it,  Allie?" 

**  Very,*'  I  say  siiortlv,  and  tuiD  to  Crau ford  Rolleston,  who  how- 
;ver  is  listening  to  31  r.  ^Baxter,  and  not  to  me. 

"  We  must  take  a  lesson  from  the  notable  Hannah  Woolly,"  he 
says,  laughing,  as  he  slidis  into  the  place  Katie  has  made  for  him. 
■  Don't  you  remember  what  she  saj'S  in  her  book,  printed  in  1G81, 
-iTid  quoted  by  Charles  Lamb — *  Let  ell  ingenious  women  have  re- 
gard, when  ihey  work  any  image,  to  work  it  ariglit.  Fii-st  let  it  be 
drawn  well,  and  tnen  observe  the  directions  which  are  given  by 
knowing  men.  I  do  assure  you  1  never  worked  any  story,  or  single 
person,  without  informing  myself  both  of  the  visage  and  habit,  as 
folio wtfth.  it  you  work  Jupiter,  he  must  have  long  curled  black 
hair,  a  purple  garment  tiimmed  with  gold,  and  sitting  upoa  a  golden 
throne,  with  yeilow  clouds  about  him,'  " 

•*  How  did  she  '  iniorm  herself  '  of  that?"  Katie 

"That's  \\\>->i  ^^'vv-^vs  pu^]/Mi  v,^r,  '^  ,:,>..,,.;!   ;;.x 


VOE    LIFE    AND    LOVE.  ^t 

a  lA  ihui,  .. :  luu  ii.akea  it  all  so  delicious.     Why  don't  you  go  U 
le  poets  for  tharactera- •'  2klau(i  dialler  '  tor  instance — 

''  *  Jlaud  Mflller  all  the  summer  day 
lUUed  U»e  mtuvdow  sweet  writh  liim'f" 

So  tbey  chatter  and  laugh,  while  1  turn  over  the  sketches  en  my 
ip  in  sulky  silence.     Suddenly  Katie  goes  1o  one  end  of  the  roona 
!r  a  book  and  Craiiford  to  a  table  lor  anolher;  and  for  a  moment 
■i  two  are  left  alone  on  the  great  ottoman,  with  nothing  bat  the 
•)tt05  ol  ouG  empty  velvet  triangle  between  us. 
••  Spt^ak  to  me,"  he  says  suddenly,  in  a  half -whisper,  bendiag  hie 
oad  to  look  into  my  face.     **  AVhy  won  t  you  speak  to  me?" 
But  1  look  at  inypictures  stubl>oruly,  feeling  that  now  it  is  my 
urn  to  make  mysrlt  wnpleasHiU— i-f  1  can. 

*' AV  hat  have  1  done  that  you  should  send  me  to  Coventry  like 
Ills?" 
Even  if  1  had  been  inclined,  I  have  no  tims^to  answer  him.     K*nt:e 
!S  come  back  with  a  volume  of  Tennyson  in  her  hand,  Cm' 
ith  Dore's  splendid  "  Dante,*'  and  in  another  moment  they  av^  .. 
)ring  over  the  illustrations  toijether,  Katie's  brown  head  very  ne;. 
•crani  Baxter's  darK  one,  while  Cianford  takes  up  his  old  po--^'"' 
066  to  me.     1  am  thus  in  a  manner  forced  into  their  consuii 
id,  though  I  am  playing  a  rulf:  which  suits  me  verj'  ill,  1  ci;  :i  n 
jlp  being  amused  by  it  and  laughing  and  suggc«tin«:  with  the  rcot. 
"So  your  handsome  friend  is  coming  to  "  >  CronheCna's 

concert.?'-'  Olive  says,  on  our  way  back  to  CaiK.  jet. 

**  How  do  you  know?"  1  ask  carelessly. 

**  Jie  said  so  just  now.     ILe  is  coming  with  the  Rollestons.     Do 

ou  know  I  fancy  he  la  an  admirer  ot  Katie's — 1  saw  their  heads 

TV  close  together  over  those  prints  of  Dore's." 

1  do  not  like  the  s'lggesliou;  it  vexes  me  all  the  evening,  while  1 

''re  my  conceit- music,  while  1  sit  m  my  pet  cV  '  •  '^'"'  r  the  fire, 

!g  the  latest  di?paiches  from  Woodhay  and  Y  •■,  while  I 

with  my  feet  on  the  fender,  and  "Probation      :ka..         '    u 

.^ee.     Mr.  Baxter  has  been  in  his  studio  all  tlif  ev  u' 

iiave  left  the  door  open,  lor  I  can  hear  him  >  ^ 

--  now  and  then,  sometimes  singing  it  in  a  v-  f 

ay.     Once,  when  I  pause  to  listen,  luy  door  being  auso  ajuc,  i  Cua 

,i;siinguish  Iho  words  of  a  song  1  know: 

**'Wliy  xv^  n^vn'-  when  I  draw  near? 
WhV'  ?    Oncel  u'as  d^•;lr. 

Tn'>ij  '  stirred  and  lluslied  thy  brow . 

NcvtM'a  .vufd  widcoities  ine  now. 
?r>.'nk    >  tiiH— snea't !    Be  niv  heart  heard. 

Or  wi'l  it  I.--         ■• '  ••   '  "'■  •  ' 

"No  vow  t<"' 

Ouly  be  ki:.  .  . 

I  listen  till  the  song  is  ended,  and  then  1  close  the  door  softly  :»nr| 

o  back  to  the  tire,  lajighing.     1  kno'V  at  least  of  whom  ho  is  iVAnk 
-    tliose  wc^  ■  *'  ^  'cry  words  he  had  si^.d  tome  tiiis  aJtrrn^oi.— 
ik  \n  1-  won't,  you  Bpe:ik  to  rae?"    TtJC  oil  spirit  of 

'  ',»ro:.i;.  .  >  dov/n  to  lh.o  pi.uio  an"!  ■•--  '  ::'• 

.!  s'jo.J  :  u'wer;  but  the  dio4isiiT>i, 


v\  pot; 

j!y  are  loo  recev.  outage  me  to  irans^esj  a  ses- 

*  *  •> 

I'z.  ie  the  Evening  of  Madame  Cronbclm's  concert,  whicla  is  indcei! 
i-nore  of  a  coav^ra'/zione  than  a  concert,  thepcrlorjJH.'i*s  mixing  among 
! he  iniuience  when  aol  actually  requued  on  iho  raised  pUiiforia  at 
lie  upper  end  ot  the  room,  where  the  grand  piano  Jiud  vioiios  aad 
/ioloiiryj'o  lire  located^  and  a  huai  of  talk  ii'ding  np  the  intervals  be- 
7^ecQ  the  p.ougs  aim  coiicert-ed  pieces,  A^'e  ali  enjoy  ii,  having  sc 
aiair''"  '  ?'  ajuoac:  bolh  perlortners  acd  aadience,  unti,  tl;ou<?li 
mo^  me  CronheJm's  pn^)iis  take  pait  in  Uie  chon«>^'V,  only, 

they  a;j  p;e..scd  to  appu;ir  ill  puidic  ii:       .  '     • 

a  rciiaioii  can  be  culied  piib'.ic  ai  jJi. 

My  '*  Jewel  "  soug  is  aEioag  the  first  on  UiC  program ino;  nad,  when 
-^  hav^o  siiDg  it,  aiifi  when  iie;r  vow  ildaj?^  huR  coujpluneDicd  me  on 
v/hut  he  h  ple[y?3d  to  caU  the  delicate  grai.'C  of  n\y  vocalism,  and 
called  liiv  voice  "  tnily  celestial,"  1  maue  my  \T5iy_  dowu  to  ih« 
BoUestoii«,  ^vilOln  1  see  grouped  at  a  liitls  dishmce  iroin  the  b?aze  * 
ii.i^bt  which  malces  a  daz/lin^  center  <ji'  the  shige.  But,  before  1  a^-^ 
r!>aeh  li.eoi,  moving  si'owly  throui^h  the  dense  .crowd,  wi;]\  my  loug: 
hkiii.i^  Siiiiu  s-kirc  in  oue  hand  and  my  tan  in  the  other,  Gerard  Baxter 
.ppears,  1  linow  not  from  vvhut  coiun  of  vuntJi^i',  and  oflerti  me  bis 
-irni. 

•'AlJc  riy"{ory.  and  allow 

MO  to  CiViigiiituiale  yon  <.>u  bii'Viiig  '  broughi  douii  kie  iiOu.?e.  *  " 

•*  0?i.  (Ln't  ?/m  Uatter  ino,"  1  laugh,  shrriH^iiii'^'niVi^honldris. 
you  emphasize  the  '  j'^ou  '?" 
. ..  .  iL  irieeuis  urjuafiural  for  you  to  ;.. ._,  ....:.... 

**i  paid  you  a  compiiuHnt  once,  and  you  niisund;  c 

^^ays  mcr"     -  -  'y.     "  Perhaps  i  may  tind  so»ae  bafe.  i.9:>  ,  ,u  •  ;,ui 
la/or  rh.  Have  you  forgiven  me  vet  fin-  toy  stupidity?" 

'••Lome  i-go,     I  ani^wiH-  frankly.     "  Let  oi  fdrgoi  ul!  aiJDUt  a  pif-r 
of  folly  for  whidi  1  jwnporry,  and  of  AViijijh  laui  heartily  ashamed 

*'  1  a'ni  ready  !■  'lu  tlo  noi   wi.sh  n^c  lo  iemomber,"  hu 

rejtjtina  a-l  once. 

And  then,  fniit-oad  ot  (iiidiii^-  myself  nj^arer  to  tbeRollestons,  I  find 
niy?eit  siUing  on  a  clidir  near  a  cool  bnnk  ol!   ferns  and  exotifs  with 
'Ir.  Baxter  K?:iEi»ling  behind  me,  Histening  (o  a  girl  v/ifh  u  magnifacei 
ontra>to  ^        •  -^'u^iug  the  **  Clang  of  ibo  Wooden  Shoon. " 

I  hslei:  xa  a  dream      I  know  that  he  is  tJiere,  gtondir. 

jiear  me  lu  m-,  timber  evening  rftiment,  And.  that  1  rdn  Jn;ppy,  \^ii 
a  strange  uisnA^j-ou  id  able  feccse  ot  happiness,  vuich  i  coilla  ni 
analyze  even  if  1  would. 

*'  Do  you  like  lier  swinging?"  he  nfik-  '.'wo  sonji:  m  ended, 

'las  a  vciy  j)urecontral.'ovoi<^.     llei  jtter  than  her 

•i  ?ingiDg.     Doi^'l  3'ou  think  so?'' 

*'  Yes.     1  havo  hotti'd  people  say  tbad  hhe  issi--  *  ;;.if;i'or  the  stage, 
;,iiat  ehe  w  going  to  italy  to  tinish'her  mnsi(\tl  e  l.taticn,** 

*"6o  I  have  heard.     1  think  idie  U  quite  right,     biich  a  voice  as 
^ers  was  never  meant  to  '  rusi  luihurBished,  not  *o  si  due  ianse*  *' 

'*  Or  yours?"  he  questions  a  little  wistriiiJj,     **  They  teii  me  701* 


ru..  .:...  ,..,..  X.OVE.  .^3 

'^'^lio  CO' "^'-"  '^^"'^e  told  him  so?  Tlie  Wca  amuses  me  so  mucik  that 
3  do  not  i  oly  advise  liim  to  the  contrary. 

"And  ;i  ;  mn,  '  1  say.  laj^hing,  *' do  you  not  think  that  1  sm 
right  in  puttiug  the  talent  which  has  been  given  me  to  some  proo* 
tienl  nscV''* 

*•  If  \i>\\  have  no  oilier  means  of  livelihood — yes." 

"  You  do  not  approve  of  singing  on  the  stage V" 

**  1  do  not  cure  to  think  of  your  doing  it." 

•'  B«t  one  can  (Jo  it,  and  yet — " 

"  1  hope  you  will  never  do  it,"  he  mtemipta,  with  more  passidBj 

;i!t  the  ocfjasijQ  seems  to  warrant.  '*  1  hope  to  Heaven  you  will 
ueverdoitt'* 

**  But  if  I  must  do  it?'*  1  say,  willfully  encouraging  Iha  idea 
•whfch  lie  TOTuehow  or  other  seem^  to  have  taken  mto  liis  head.  *'  If 
my  dfiily  ^)iead  depends  upon  it,  what  am  1  to  do?" 

"  (;*hii't  you  teach,  or  somel^iing?"  he  says  boyishly.  **  You  could 
teach  other  girls,  couldn't  )'ou?" 

"  But  fancy  traching — fancy  wearirvg  one's  self  out  with  a  troop  of 
-Jie  girls,  as  Madame  Cronhelra  does,  when  one  might  be  bowing  to 
a  delighted  audience  behind  the  footlights,  with  oae's  arms  fuD  of 
bouquets." 

**  That's  last  what  1  hate,"  he  retorts  savagely.  "That  ia^ust 
what  no  girl — no  cousin  or  sister  of  mine — should  ever  degrade  her- 
self by  doing.     Ilow  do  you  think  a  man — who  loved  you,  for  1n- 

would  like  to  see  otlier  men  level  their  opera  glasses  at  yon, 

<;rhaps — indeed  certainly — make  comments  on  your  per^ioaai 

.peurance?" 

"  If  they  were  conapltmentary,  1  don't  suppose  she  would  mind 

ry  much." 

"  But  he  would  mind.  If  he  were  her  brother  or  her  husbai^,'h6 
would  rather  see  her  in  her  coffin  than  subject  her  to  such  degrada- 
tion." 

"  How  delighlfully  selfishP*  I  laugh,  shrugging  my  shoulders. 

'*  Ou,  we  are  all  very  sctfishK'  Mr.  Baxter  allows;  and  thou,  the 
overture  to  "  Tanniianser  "  commencing,  we  find  it  imi»ssible  to 
talk  <;ny  more  for  the  present. 

1  anuise  myselt  by  looking  for  my  own  particular  friends  in  the 
crowd.     Olive  is  in  a  corner  fiirting  with  Jack  Roileston, 
sillmg  cahnly  beside  bar  fian/:^,  looking  as  lazily  handsome  .     .... 
Katie  Bollcston  is  looking  at  me.     1  wonder  if  she  would  like  ver  / 
much  to  change  places  with  me,  and  if  half  at  least  of  Olive's-  ■  • 
picion  about  her  and  G«»ftrd  Baxter  is  true?    Perhaps  KRtio  ha  ' 
her  heart  to  this  arLisl-friCTid  of  her  brother's,  though,  accordi; 
Mrsw  War.chono,  Mr.  Baxter  does  not  care  lor  young  ladie^i. 
ie*s  sleadiast  look,  and  wondering  how  it " 
,  all  our  common  friends,  nobody  has  i 
t^  who  I  am,  when  "  Tannbauser  "  conieeto  an 

1  '  <^eat,  Blumcnlhal'a  "  Bend  of  the  River  "  Xw    ^,   . 

on  tlw  prr 

*'  \mi  \:...: a  great  deal?"  Mr.  Bxiztor ohBerves«  as  ba oft^cs'm^ 

his-  arm  attain. 

"■  Yes,'^  1  answer,  smiling,  as  1  meet  his  splcr^^ ■-'  -^  .rk  eyee,  **  2 
hoi»  it  does  not  annoy  you. " 


30  POR    LIFE    AN"D    LOVE. 

*^  No;  Mrs.  Wauchope  will  tell  you  that  1  have  never  been  so  In 
vjustrious  as  since  you  came  to  Carleton  Street." 

*'  1  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  I  venture,  somewhat  soberly.  "  If  1  laad 
your  talent,  1  fhould  certainly  not  let  it  b»  idle." 

'*  I  mean  to  work  very  hard,  now,"  he  says  quickly.  *'  Before, 
1  did  not  care  very  mueh  whether  1  made  a  name  for  myself  or  not 
But  no\v~l  dot" 


CHAPTER  V. 

**  So  he  thinks  I  spend  my  time  drumming  away  on  this  unfoTfti* 
tiate  instrument  with  the  ultimate  object  of  earniogmy  livelihood?** 
I  laugh,  sitting  before  the  piano  in  Mrs.  Wauchope's  (irawiug-roooj 
xm  the  moriiiug  after  Madame  Croniielm's  soiree  niusictile.  "  H« 
thinks  1  am  a  penniless  art-stud(aifc  like  himself,  bound  to  earn  my 
li^ead  by  whatever  talent  1  possess,  unless  1  prefer  to  sit  down  and 
starve.  What  a  joke  it  is,  and  how  Olive  will  enjoy  it!  And  how 
Au::t  Rosa's  stifi  gray  curls  would  bristle  with  horror  if  she  knew 
that  tier  niece  Allie  Somess  Scott  of  Woodhay  was  taken  for  a  poor 
young  woman  from  the  countiy  who  had  come  up  to  Ihese  cheap 
iumi.shed  lodgings  for  the  nurpose  of  studying  vocal  music  for  the 
stage!" 

The  idea  is  too  delicious!  I  laugh  to  myself  with  such  fraDtic  en- 
joyment that,  if  Jvlary  Anne  had  chanced  to  come  into  the  room, 
she  would  have  set  me  down  either  as  an  idiot  or  as  some  harmless 
kind  of  lunatic.  1  shall  not  tell  Mr.  Baxter  the  mistake  he  haa 
made — since  no  one  has  thought  of  telling  him  before,  I  hope  they 
\ii{\  not  teii  him  now.  They  must,  take  it  for  granted  hat  he  knows 
who  I  am,  and  he  must  liave  thought  no  questions  necessary,  seeing 
ibr  himself  m.y  mode  of  life.  As  for  Mra.  Wauchope,  she  probably 
still  labors  under  the  delusion  that  the  Count  and  the  "  drawing- 
jT>oms  "  have  never  yet  encountered  each  other  here  or  anywhere  else. 
Mr.  Baxter  must  think  ihe  Deaues  and  Rollestons  have  been  very 
kind  in  taking  me  up;  but  then  he  knows  them  to  be  fond  of  art 
and  artistic  people,  espetiially  the  Rolle^tons,  and  likely  enough  to 
make  much  of  me  for  the  sake  of  my  voice.  What  fun  it  is  to  tliink 
of  myself  as  working  for  my  living!  What  fun  it  will  be  to  keep 
up  the  delusion  with  the  help  of  my  scampish  frl^ind  Olive,  who 
loves  nothiniT  so  much  as  a  practical  joke! 

But  my  fnn  is  put  a  stop  to  in  a  very  summar}  .^^c.^^v  r.     While 

^.  am  si  Ming  heie  at  the  piano,  a  note  from  Olive  is  put  into  my  hanci 

■o  Ray  that  Eliiiior  has  scarlet  fever,  a"d  that  1  am  not  to  attempt  to 

come  near  the  house.     All  the  others  have  had  it,  and  are  not  afraidr 

yiis,.  Deane  will  not  allow  them  to  come  near  me— I  must  net 

•t  even  to  see  Olive  ct  Madame  Crouhelm's  to  day,   as  her 

not  itiink  it  would  be  right  to  allow  her  to  go  there  c- 

:  i  house. 

X  am  vtiry  sorry,  not  only  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  Ell inor  and  all 
jf  th{iia\.  1  write  a  note  to  Olive,  and  have  just  made  up  my  mind 
fiot  to  go  out  at  all  this  morning,  when  Ada  Rolleston  comes  running 
\n  ^  '7(M  ^,'^  TT.Y  nf  request  that  1  would  come  over  and  spend  the  day 
i  t .  which  1  am  rather  unwilling  to  do,  but  which  Ada 


JOa    UFB    AlTD    LOVE,  31 

Dnrinfi^  the  next  five  or  six  days  1  spon<l  ixioi,i  of  my  time  with  the 
%  ':'.  Adn  pe{«  me  and  spoils  me  very  muci.,  in  the  fashion  of 

Oil  .  ',  ^vho  has  "tagged"  for  me  8im:e  we  were  chikiren 

togei  ^L  •.  T"!:  '  house  In  Berkeley  Street  is  a  ver}-  pleasant  one— there 
are  nhvays  \  .-tors  comm^  and  gomg— clever  people,  poet  s,  painters, 
aid  lUerary  men  and  women.  We  are  never'af  a  lOss  for 
lent,  bet^veen  the  preparations  tor  the  fancy-ball,  Jack's 
eniateur  studio,  and  the  grofit  music-room  where  their  musical  friends 
would  willingly  play  symphonies  and  fantasies  ail  da}"  long,  U  they 
could  find  >uiy  oue  to  listen  to  them. 

'    1  meet  llr.  Bjixter  there  very  often—in  fact,  1  may  say  every  day. 

5iio  not  thihk  he  can  be  working  very  hard — unless  he  paints  by 

]ain!)liLdit— he  is  always  with  Jack  Rolleston,  smoking  in  liis  Rtudic 

or  <  hi'iing  to  us  m  the  drawing-room.     He  even  stay:  to  dinuei 

.es — 1  know  it  because  they  insis*  upon  my  dinmg  there  onc« 

',  and,  whe^  1  dine  there,  hediuestheie  too.     They  laugh  ai 

about  him — ot  course,  girls  laugh  at  eai^h  oilier  for  very  little — 

;  call  him  my  handsome  sweetheart.     Butl  do  not  fiirt  with  iiini, 

igh  he  manages  s?omehow  to  be  always  in  my  noighljorhood,  and 

*  i.  annot  hHp  knowing  that  he  Ls  almost  alw;;y-i  looking  ai  me. 

1  am  going  home  on  the  second  of  April,  to  come  up  io  town  again 

'  .  Poppy's  wedding,  unless  it  is  postponed  on  ecccuut  of  Ellinor's 

^s«.     Olive,  who  writes  ic  me  almost  every  day,  says  they  are 

'ig  to  Brighton  as  soon  as  EJiinor  is  strong  enough  to 

ould  not  be  surprised  if  Poppy's  wedding  look  place 

^        >ect  of  seeing  Woodhay  so  Roon  does  not  fill  mc  with  nn- 

.e<i    delight.    >  Something    has    thrown    a    glamor    over    Mrs, 

u  ]  ,^  ,   ,  vi.jihhy  furnished  lodgings,  which  my  own  beautiful 

r  known — "  a  light  th«t  never  was  on  iansJ  or  sea  " 

Ml  :■  -»  I,    -'  dusty  rooms,  a*'  glory  and  a  freshness  ana  a  dream," 

hich  1  vwilk  like  one  wlio  "  on  a  mountain  takes  the  dawn."    I 

:'t  1  cannot  say  what  has  made  me  haj^.py. 

..stons  Lake  me  to  see  the  studio  of  an  nrtist  of 

.  licive  iieard — a  man  who  very  off  en  come-  :  cy 

,  gaunt  and  gray  and  disheveled  as  he  of 

'  ot  the  day.     As  we  go  up  the  stairs  leading  lo  the 

-  meet  a.girl  coming  down — a  young  girl,  poor!-  <lr,  "^is.^f^ 

witJi  a  ii'Cti  of  such  extraordinary  beauty  that  il  \y 

'^'        '       ^  '  >  '  never  dreamed  that  a  lamian  face  Cv,.-...  .-v  -v. 

Icston,  who  has  also  been  struck  by  it,  makes  tlu 

;t  pamter  hi  "nseit. 

laying  down  his  pHlette  and  bn:        ,      i^a 
lo  mo  as  a  model-  '    inW.    iler 

.1  womnn,   al'vays  ^  .iies  drunk. 

.  'i-j. ' ' 
.      'n  standing  with  its  face  io 
'  are  looking  again  at  the  iriri  we  met  on  iho  stairs 
tm:"!>   rjreek  outlines  which    Phidias    riii'ht   l:ivo 
■  ied-gx)Ul  Ifair  tossed  Imck  fro' 
a  halo  round  the  au-^'^'  '■  •  ^  '  •rl,  Ui^:  v.. 
leBmiliuglips.     Th'  list  had 

<  loicta-ssSsUiK  is  holdir.  >jiuieh  in  one  biii  ,j 


s'icr)\1?r  hand,  as  she  leans  agamst  the  pilla?  of  : 
)ook:iig  out  of  tbe  caiwas  with  those  inaoccDt.  \v: 
Refore  the  pitlure  for  a  long  tiime,  siudylni:  Ihftl  e.     1 1 

her,  though  she  is  ia  lags  and  I  am  wetiring  a  steel-;r 

velvet  with  a  bounet  ot  the  same,  whoso  cost  1  care  to 

member.     How  h;ippy  she  ought  to  be  with  a  fn  at?     Wl.«4 

Tnatter  about  cold  and  hiingex'and  rags,  if  one  co  on  the  l)€ 

holder  with  those  ethereal  eyes,  with  those  exquusiic^  ciiildish  lips 
So  1  »hink,  looking  down  at  the  lifeless  canvas.  And  as  1  look  i 
Bhia.ruus  tli  rough  my  reins,  as  though  a  door  had  opened  some 
whe?^,  letting  in  a  breath  of  some  cold  out-er  air.  It  is  a  curioni 
seD';.iion — 1  have  heard  of  people  feeling  the  li;  one  walke< 

ovef  their  grave  that  was  to  be.     Yet  why  she  girl's  fao 

make  me  shiver?  it  is  as  beautiful  as  the  face  oi  an  angel,  and  a: 
innocent — it  is  not  very  likely  that  it  should  ever  do  me  any  harm  I 

«■  *  «  *  «  «  * 

This  evening  the  RoUcstons  insist  upon  sending  thefr  carriage  t  J 
take  me  back  to  Berkeley  Street  to  dinner     1  should  have  speii: 
lonely  even'iig  if  1  had  not  gone,  and  yet  1  go  rallier  unwilliD. 
having  had  a  pile  of  letters  from  "Woodhay  and  Yattcnden  in 
mornmg,  which  1  have  not  yet  had  time  to  read.     But  the  temptat 
to  spend  the  evening  in  that  pleasant  house  is  too  strong  to  resi 
against  my  better  judgment  1  allow  myself  to  be  poisuadcd,  ; 
seven  o'clock  finds  me  in  the  drawing-room  at  Berkeley  Street;  a 
as  iisual,  J  fmd  iMr.  Baxter  there  before  me. 

"  1  don't  think  you  are  working  very  hard,**  I  say  to  him  in  the 
course  ot  the  evening.  , 

**  I  think  w^e  have  both  been  rather  idle  lately/'  he  retorts,  with  his 
boyish  smile. 

**  1  have  been  here  every  day — I  have  no  time  to  practice.** 

*'  And  1  have  been  here  every  day — 1  hare  no  time  io  paint." 

**  But  how  arc  you  to  make  this  great  name  for  yourself  it  you  do 
BOi  work?" 

**  And  you?"  lie  suggests,  laughing. 

*'  Oh,  1  am  not  in  any  great  hurry  to  make  a  name  for  myself  1" 

*'  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  1  hope  you  will  never  make  a  name  foi 
yourself  at  all." 

'•  Thank  you!** 

*'  X  mean  that  1  hope  you  will  never  make  that  voice  of  ywirs  pub 
lie  proptatj\" 

**  What  then  is  to  become  of  me?**  1  ask,  with  laudable  gravity. 

'•  Lit  some  man  work  for  you,"  he  says  humedl}',  his  boyisj^iaco 
flushing  like  a  girl's.  **  Give  some  man  the  chance  of  mafitog  a 
name  for  himself — for  your  saikel" 

1  shake  my  head  gravely,  looking  out  into  the  twilight.  'We  are 
standing  at  an  open  window  at  flie  upper  end  of  the  long  mti^e-room. 
All  tlie  rest  ot  the  party  are  clustered  round  the  piano  at  the  lower 
end,  where  some  music-mad  friend  of  Crauford's  is  playing  Berlioz's 
•'  Symphonie  Fantastique.  *'  These  are  all  in  a  warm  glow  of  candle- 
light from  the  lights  on  the  piano,  but  we,  standing  at  this  dislani 
window,  are  illumined  only  by  the  low  glimmer  from  a  faint  cleai 
af'pie-green  sky  against  whi^^  the  houses  stmd  up  picturesquely 


1^ 


alt'  pi. 

*'ta.Mv 

T 
1 

Tuf. 

J&eaiiit 
I  lo<; 

WOi'k  i 

'■  'i< 

me  to 

XLTC.  i'l 

ft;  ":.-t  aVyCTerijy>;!:;idov.-T  chiniDev- 

.t  red  ioveiy 
ou  tl/iiik  tiiL   ....^  J  ^^^..^..j  .....  v..  w  .......  jw« 

me,  low  and  quiellv  as  the  -worcfs  are  spoken.    I 

rk  figu?  e.  Indtslincrin  the  tw.  ilighJ  •  nucl  tuddeiily 

s.  l:is  .jtsprrtite  pcr,'er:y,  li.*  j^wission- 

,  the  ]ian(l  uad  Jttid  me  imo  so.ic 

tiiuu  l.^iiuiu  "  oi  WiiicU  1  have  never  dreauievi  in  all  mf  life 

}>out  it,"  1  answer  with  truth. 
•  you  marry  me?" 
es  me  so  entirely  by  surprise  that  it  coEveys  no 

ju  niarry  me,  and  ^^ive  me  the  right  to  work  for  you?** 
.1  o  tlie  career  dark  eyes  of  tiie  lad  who  is  so  eiiger  to 

)•  •;      1  it  who  cannot  or  will  not  work  for  hirnselt, 

\il"  1  excliiim,  with  a  cruel  smile.    "  It  seems  tx> 
>  you  can  compass — " 

You  are  very  hitler;  1  think  you  take  a  pleaa- 

i  think  you  always  did!" 

.'   i  say,  liolding  cut  my  hand;  it  looks  very  "white 

•  l-iii  light,  as  1  am  sure  I  look  myself  in  my  faiut 

a.     "It  was  kind  ot  you  to  wish  to  help  me  in 

-uld—" 

eriupt«  passionately,  taking  the  hand  I  have 
aiini^  to  pre'is  his  warm  young  Jips  aizainst  it. 
Ailie,  ii  you  call  it  kind  to  love  you  v.iih  all  the 
niil" 

V  n  me  for  so  short  n  time,'*  1  say,  draw- 

.y.     '*  You  can  know  nothing  about  me." 

you — 1  know  that  1  have  loved  a'Ou  since  the 

'.net  you  her^      1  believe  I  fell  in  love  wilh  youi 

saw  you,  though  Idrs.  \Yauchope  thought  she 

of  that  kind  so  cleverly  m  lliehud;"  and  he 

•:>i  I  hoyhh  laugh.     I  think  oT  *':    -■■■■■'■ '  -n\ 

\nt  nreai  solitary  star,  at  the  up 

n  sky.     The  q'  "  u;io  of 

a,  the  group  ai)*'  '"n  to  it 

!]i  iuli  on  ibt'ir  pi  cocci. 

.  the  twilight  v.-indow,  t  .        . 

ot  u.e  sky. 
.1,  Allie;  but,  if  we  cr<::.      .      each  other,  that 
And  1  would  work  so  hard  lor  you— 1  would 
to  become  famous  lor  yoursr^'"—  t'^'- '^'^  .vr.^i  ^ 
'.v'ilh  such  a  ho|>e  as  liiut." 
!  could  "  pile  him  a  palace  s 
I      as  he  standi  thcie,  so  yc- 

pfon?e  would  think  ii«»'**  1  f^nj.  smi'Wng,  and 

rk  eyes. 
:e  happy  we  should  car*)  very  little  what  otocr  peopla 


iiiid.    'W'e ;    _  ,       ,        ,  diooce  to  ^:  3r.  it 

nobody's  bushufss  hiii  our.Oivn. 

Purhaps  UQ}^  yiltnce  mys  '*  w^,  ..  ^    ........  ...  .j;   li< 

comes  nf^arer  lo  ine,  bending  his  dark  head  (o  1(  ^  *'&•«,  as 

he  flid  once  b'fore  in  Ibis  -■  -  '  -— •  ■    when  ^vc■  -"^'it 

bunch  of  withered  violets.  | 

"  Allie,  couldn't  .yon  oare  lor  mc  eiiougii  lo  .  lianda 

in  mine  and  trrisl  t«)  me  '?"  « 

Coviid  1?  C.'jn  1?  lie  laker-  me  in  his  arav 
eionateJy,  and  1.  Aliie  Soiriors  Seott  of  VVoodh;; 
an  air. azed  docility  which  1  could  not  have  bell 
night  afpo.  And  i-^o  we  stand  for  *' one  vaBt  moT: 
happiness;  and  then,  with  a  hiugh  which  ends  n. 
away  from  me. 

"Oh,  this  is  foUy!"  1  exclaim,  with   rather 
must  be  ennfes'^ed.     "We  are  mad  to  ihink  cI  -  ius  u 

minute.     You  have  nothing,  and  j'^et  5'ou  M-ani  ourselt 

with  a  wife  wJiose  only  mode  of  earning  her  li\  •  omn!" 

'VMy  wife  sliali  never  sing  for  her  bread !' '  t;  .,  'J.irow.| 

ing  up  his  head. 

"  Then  ]jow  do  you  propose  to  live?'* 

*'  1  shall  live  by  my  art " 

•'  But  you  must  practice  your  art  before  you  c; 

'*  And  1  intend  lo  practice  it." 

"And  if  you  Mjf 

*•  I  shall  not  fail  with  such  an  incentive  to  wor     ' 

•*  You  are  ve.ry  confident,"  1  say,  gazing  into  :  '^hich  h 

dark  as  night  under  their  black  lashes,     '*  But ;:  ou  she. 

aot  succeed?"  i 

"  1  Fhall  succeed."  ! 

'*  But  you  seem  to  me  ta  be  more  anxious  to^  ' 
cious  origi^nality  than  to  conquer  by  sober  work,' 

"  1  cannot  be  conventional!"  he  exclaims,  fro 
have  my  own  ideas  about  choice  of  subject  and 
with  it.'^and  1  sliail  ftdopt  the  ideas  of  no  01  her  m 

*'  But  your  i< lea  may  not  plea.'^.e  the  public."  ■ 

"  If  tb.c  public  cannot  understiund  me,  it  is  the'  f 

"  And,  meau'.vhiie,  you  and  those  tjelongir 

Ho  is  silent,  looking  down  at  me— at  tLi 
frn-vn  who  dares  to  stand  there  and  call  not  oni.\ 
ne.  3  of  pHirpose  in  question,  i>ut  llie  principles  ot 

"  Truth  nitist  conquer  m  the  end,"  he  -says  at  I 

"if  it  v;  ^..f•kwl  up    by  ddiberate,   rue>-.]i:i!'  \ici 

to;]." 

"1  v-",.t    .^   i:-L  tor  yoi.1,  AlL'e,   if  you   wLi  Ji^ 

chance!" 

"  Villi  you  work  for  me.  Gerard?"  , 

lie  bends  down  and  kis«u.'si  my  hair — a  quick  p; 

**  As  long  as  iliere  is  breath  in  my  bod\',  d: 

**  Then  1  will  ielJ  you  what  i  v.id  do,"  1  s  '.Mhei 

gtely.  "  Ou  the  day  that  you  sell  a  picluie  fo'  :uijds, 

it  v;m  come  and  ask  me  to  marry  you,  Gcr.  .  i  say 


FOE    i.y.^    ;...^    ^J7B.  ^5 

.....  ...w  .  ■  >..  ot  tUe  hunclred  pounds,  AHicV  -fic. 

'*  No,"  I  answer,  smilini;  back  again;  *'  bat  boc  _  rovo 

ic  Ui8  that  you  have  begun  to  work." 
**  "lou  will  marry  mc  liiwi,  Allie?  * 
'•Yes." 

"1  won't  be  Ion«?  painlin?  that  picture!"  In    .  lily. 

*•  ?■  \'  v;\:  ■'■'■,  do  you  know-  how  Jmppy  you  have  r 

'\     ■  .   in^  cio.se  To  me,  liis  urm.-;  round  n.  ncp.d 

>L  my  fair  one,  our  two  foou'sli  hearh  .iish 

!»('.  ftiUilled. 

'11  to  me  fi-ora  the  other  end  of  t 

liicir  u.,. >. ,. ,  ,.o  from  the  piano  and  Crniilord's  i 

to  peer  itito  our  sliadowy  space  of  twihi^ht.     "  Aii. 
*GalWi  WatcT.'" 

I  move  down  flie  room  :n  my  long  dress,  a  nreseTico 

with  po  f^-poc  of  darker  color  about  it  than  th: 
tu^kncid  into  iho  coii  ot  liimy  lace  about  the  IIm 
a  darker  liiiure  which  locks  like  its  shadow  in 
of  thi^  l.:)n<r  !-'ia'.liv.vy  room. 

.1  to  sing  '  GaUa  Water/  Aliic,  o* 

Ana  1  sit  down  and  sing  them  with  the  carele>>.s  "ir'sli 

nnd  lnito>fc:>rnce  wlWioui  whidi,  Olive  Dcane  tei'a  '  not; 

'  AlJie  Scoti.     J3ut  all  the  time  1  am  thinking  of  ■  lii.;^- 

''t'S  outlinfKi ;      ■       •:  taint  gold-green  Bky,  of  ;i  ! 

to  red  and  ."of  a  voice  tiuit 'had  .  [ 
■any  me,  Allici."    aud  of  auolher  voice  that  h, 


"  Your  n.v,v.i  Ii  v--,  come.'* 

3ucii  is  Alary  Vnue's  greeting  to  me.  in  the  hall  oi  O^irleton 

■  .,.t 

:at  !imif : 

J  OCT  ;'■.!'.'  ■r;;in  the  cor.ntry.     Siio  carae  ar  .  ■.  t^nd 

iS  that  sMritr«(l  to  lind  yoa  had  gone  out!" 

"  But  V-  she  come  for?    Is  anything  v 

*'  Noi  ••  :i  the  world.     She  swys  she  \^ 

)  liave  i\  room  ready,  iK^cun.'  <  . ' 

''  1  n^nrat.  thinkiuur  of  ilio  u'  "'   ■ 


d,  shesavs;  but  1  think  it!'^ 

"^.  W'auc-  :. 

SI 

,:ing  abo  .hat 

of  mind  t-iie  mubt  hnve  been  in  before  j  to 

;t>  !i)  t>-v-,  ■■!  suf'li  ;i  l!viM\! 

■c  of  the  mo 


36  ion  LI...   .....^    :.- 

The  sop'^  "  "viy  be  ambiguous;  but  Aunt  Rosa  does  not  per- 
ceive it. 

"So  aiii  J.,  iizic  .says,  when  she  has  planted  a  cold  kiss  upon  my 
nose.  "  1  did  cot  tliink  you  came  up  to  Jjoudon  to  go  to  evt-ning- 
parties.'* 

"But  I  was  with  the  Roilcjitons,  anat  —  perfectly  respectable 
people." 

•*  Hump]]  how  did  you  eome  home?" 

"  They  senl  ma  home  in  their  CM'riage — they  a'lways  do. '' 

"  .1  wrote  to  you  yesterday.  Is  Iherc  any  thing  the  'matter  with  the 
pos'a I  arraniremeuts ? '  * 

'*  N"ot  that  1  know  of,  Aunt  Ro.sa." 

"  Then  1  am  to  conclude  that  you  never  open  my  letters?" 

"  1  wae  in  a  hurry  this  morning — breakttist  was  late,  and  1  was 
afraid  of  being  late  at  Madame  Cronhehu's.  I  did  glance  through 
your,  letter;  but  I  must  have  overlooked  anything  you  said  about 
coming  up  to  town." 

She  i^;r  3  iioihing  to  me  about  Mis.  Wauchope's  contraband 
k)dgei;  biJi  I  know,  as  well  as  it  she  had  told  me,  that  somebody 
faas  been- oil' cious  imough  to  write  and  tell  her  ail  about  him.  1  sus- 
pect Mrs.  Den  no;  but  1  ask  Aunt  ROsa  no  questions,  nor  does  she 
volunteer  auy  inlormation  to-night. 

"  It  seems  ]^'i:r.-j.  Wauch<)pe  has  no  spare  room  for  me.  In  tho'^-' 
circumsiriri;:^. '■:•—" 

**  My  :jI  It03a,  you  can  have  my  room.     I  will  sleep  hery 

on  the  ;   ju^t  run  in  tlieie  to  dress.     There  is  a  dressing- 

room —  .  perhaps  I  had  better  have  a  shake-down  in  the 

drcs^iii;  Mrs.  vVauciiojie  can  manage  it." 

•'  Shf  ;•  it  m)w.   1  don't  like  that  woman,  Rosalie.^  She 

nasair.-  iongue." 

"  Si. (J  ys  been  civil  to  me,  Aunt  Rosa." 

**  Oli,  you  just  let  her  do  as  she  pleases!    Have  you  been 

Durniiia  but  Scotch  coal  since  you  came  up  to  town?" 

*'  I  li.  •  '•■■  20Qd  fires,  mmtie." 

**  I  i.:  :,  it,  then.    That  coal  in  the  grate  is- nothing  but 

rubbish,  i;  :  u^.^  a  iiare  say  you  are  paying  the  very  highctl  price  for 
it.     And  the  V'a  ."-iie  gave  me  was  execrable— perfectly  execrable!" 

'*Vv.i  ,ch  judge  of  tea.  Aunt  Rosa,"  I  say,  yawning. 

"1  hop  brotight  me  up  some  jam  trom  Woodlicy,  thc'Jffh, 

and  some  of  oar  own  butter." 

"I've  dnn«  'iO  Buch  thing.     You're  coming  hojuc  .  :. 

0:oriow--t:  ;i  enough  and  too  much  of  this  folly,  and  your 

lincle  i.4  ve:  ,  .....;  .:e  was  ever  foolishly  | "''•'• ''ded  into  giving  his 
consent  to  it." 

*'  To  i!;,^rrow,  Aunt  Rosa!'* 

"  Not  r.  >Iiy  hiltT  thnn  tomorrow." 

"  But  ';r/a":  y m  v.  nut  to  see  something  of  London,  auntie?" 

"  1  \\u::*,  I ;  -<  0  iiir}  last  of  it.  I'm  only  sorry  I  didn't  know  what 
1  know  imw  three  weftks  ago,  and  your  ridiculous  freak  would  ha^e 
come  to  an  end  a  crv-^at  deal  sooner.  How  youi'  Uucie  Todlnm-er 
f-ouil !        L:;i  '  o  such  an  egregious  piece  of  fciiy  passes  ir 

f  (  :;:^:'    '       '■■'.'  - 

If  she  only  knew  that  th;  olen,  ho 


LIFE    AND    LOVE.  37 


■er  fiiie  woiiiti  liave  mode  in  ! 
s  that  Siic  i3  ri;iht.  1  luivt» 
(>  wbnt  hUq  wouM  consUler  i 


'•T!i;it  ! 
Which  did  wiu  nij  . 


"  1  cnncot  possibly  go  home  lo-raorrow,  Aur  -ay,  lay- 

■  rel-lmeil  clonk  nwl  the  f:u: 
1  siiuc  i  c.Mtiie  into  ll;^  ronf> 
ii  iiiut  I  ttm  IcaviDg  tow!  ^-by  to 

"  You  can  write  to  thon  both.     A  note  vvil!  ■  well," 

'•  T  '^^■  "il  fx.t  'v'iie.     You  can  go  borne  to-inf  ■'■  5  v.*'^  ■'  '- 

f  you  do  not  caro  to  stay  iu  J 
lu.i  ,i.i/t;yo!i  bi'iiiad  mc,  Rowalie.*' 
"  "^    ;y  well,  then:  you  ir.ust  Ht«y  liil  the  day 
"  jQiii  your  unt '  '  woixi  by  uxe  that  coiii'j  noms 

!  not  £^0  7, "  1  repeat  obs  i  Aunt  Rosa, 

;e  ot  ol  il  bt'trer  not  to  [.  ^. 

je  nsy  bi»v  u«^hui.     Tijis  is  tito  iucu  \^ 
1  canu'^t  f'o  !i\v;!V  wlthour,  seeivii^  1  ^ 

V'  it?    1  n;ay  r  <*  to  meet  him.  to- 

...v»,v;  nr^^'   ^''  -^  '     .,..,.  »  -o  forced  I o  go  av  '■"■;• 

m  gfto:;  w  fhirt  evening  that  our  ■ 

't  b':  '  -  i  .1  Jill  nc.t  dream  tluit  it  would  he  : 

"  1  !i  Tvon't   be  vejy  uncomfortable,   A 

"'■  as  yoiir  -■      ■ 

are  you.    And  1  have  improred 
siniH!  i  v,,^nt  to  Mndame  Uronhchn's." 

:t  Rosa  snits,  sitting  bolt  upright  io  the  . -lioomtort;.: 

lir  in  the  room.  -^ 


'*  1  thir 

jIj   2   ,,.;:5    ,„-,   .^    :,.^   "  oV.^  c-..-^       •<  *ri.o*  , 

■rr/^*>'W\»^     f-»rtt»    rf-^ 

fited  me  out." 

1  li^rht 

her  btjurco!^}  rr;::;u;0  v  i::i  aiacrity,  r 

■ie  iicr  ir;!o 

^  innf r 

room.     A  lit  tie  curiin  bed  baa  bcfn 

.>r  me  in  li;'^ 

tir 

:  but,  be*              ■  !o  bed,  and 

Ii 

k.  liJT  i              :  oienta,  1  or' 

in 

•room,  and,  silling  on  the  rui:. 

pa,       , 

•.k  ot  those  J  wo  lijrures  in  that  tmi 

.'■■■■'  i 

«  tooJi?h  promise  made  only  to  bo. broken.  Bui  it  he  comes  to  ine^ 
Bkall  I  not  say  "licri''?  \f  he  keeps  his  share  of  ^he  airrecn.rn': , 
shall  1  not  keep  minoV    A  foolish  Imppy  smile  curves  my  \\[)a  in  \i.c 

■'   v;-   •:■:-.  _ij,e  lipg  that  he  bas  kissed  by  the  li;:ht  of  that  grr.it 

i^-star.     Yes,  1  will  keep  my  promise,  Geriu-d.     Jiut 
u  keep  yours? 

to  Madame  CronhcUn's  in  the  morning. 

i'-!-'.        Tho    lvOileStOU3    ;<{C    so-rv    T   ", 


especiallVc  ^Ii.  Baxier  i^  nui  at  Ijcrkcic}- Si  root,  nor  docs  any  odq 
mention"  his  ua?Tie.  1  oonie  back  to  luncheon  at  Carletou  Btree!, 
though  the  Roilestons  try  hard  to  keep  me,  aiid  have  just  linisiied 
that  long  tie] ay ed  meal  when  Mary  Anne  conies  in  with  a  card  \a 
lier  griniy  hand,  which  she  proflreif)  to  me. 

"  Who  is  it?"  Aunt  liosa  iisks  suspiciously. 

"  The  sentleman  upstaiis,"  Mary  Anne  answers,  with  malicious 
enjoyment  m  either  squinting  eye. 

•*\VhoV"  Aunt  Rosa  exchdms,  letting  her  knitting  fall  into  her 
lap  in  the  extremity  of  her  amazement. 

*'  Ask  Mr.  Baxter  to  walk  in,"  1  say  quietly.  "  Aunt  Rosa,  this 
is  my  Iriend  Mr.  Baxter.     lUr.  Baxter — Tsliss  t'lerrick." 

Gerard  Bax'.er  bows.  Aunt  Rosa  inciiacs  her  head  stiffly,  her  eyes 
blazing  through  her  spectacles  like  the  eyes  of  her  own  cat  Mull 
when  he  is  vexed. 

'*  1  was  son}''  to  hear  that  you  were  going  away,**  Gerard  Baxter 
says,  as  he  niuks  into  a  chair  beside  me. 

•*  Yes,"  1  auswcr,  laughing.     "  My  laave  is  stopped!** 

Aunt  Rosa  is  rather  deaf.  Unless  we  speak  in  a  kind  of  raised, 
sustained  tone,  Bhe  can  hear  very  little  of  what  we  say;  and  1  do  not 
think  it  nect^^sary  to  do  this — all  the  time. 

**  1  hjid  a  great  deal  of  assurance  to  venture  to  call  upon  ycUj 
hadn't  1?''  Gerard  says,  smiling. 

*'  1  bhould  have  beeu  sorry  not  to  hav(3  wished  you  good-by.'* 

'*  Allie,  may-vi  write  to  you  sometimes?" 

'*  Oh,  no;  I  think  not!"  1  answer  hurriedly.  "  1  coj!<^  no"  answer 
your  lettei-s.'* 

"But  how  am  1  to  live  without  either  seeing  c  Leaving  from 
you?" 

"  You  mvuit  work,*'  1  say,  smiling  a  kittle;  but  tneie  are  tears  in 
my  eyes. 

"  1  intend  to  work.     1  have  been  wild  enough,  Allie— you  don'S 
know  how  much  of  the  Bohemian  tnere  is  in  iiie — but  the  thougbt 
of  3"ou  will  steady  me,  d^arling;  while  i  love  you  1  shall  hale  evei 
thing  1  know  you  would  not  like." 

Something  in  the  admission,  frank  as  it  is,  saddens  me.     Is  I 
love  for  me  really  great  enough  to  work  such  a  change  in  him  ho 
this?    if  ho  forgets  me,  will  he  not  relapse  into  his  eld  idle  ways, 
and  then  h.i  sorry,  and  so  despair  of  ever  doing  imy  good? 

"  Gcrtu'd.  v.'ill  you  promise  to  let  me  know  the  day  that  you  f 
get  mc;" 

"For 

**  If  yoii  vio  ioigti  ine,  promise  to  teH  me  so  at  once.*' 

"1  do  r^rnKse;  but  that  da}' wiil  never  corac,  darlinir.  I  f.i^;-. 
never  h.  woman  but  you,  Allie,  and  1  never  shall 

^  Auni  .  .  .iiws  upon  us,  speechless  with  wrath  ^"i 

tion.     W  iicit  aie  we  whispermg  about,  this  torcign-lo. 
unubaslicd  young  pian  and  1?      "We  make  the  conv.-  -aw,;;,  im 
jccneral  after  this;  and  in  about  twenty  minutes  Gerard  gets  up 

"  Gc^i:  :.8  says,  holding  out  his  ving  p« 

i^;oc(l  I  .     .[  Rosa.     "It  is  hard  that  v. 

%r  ^^no^;  . ;  ^ ',...:!  this,  Allie-  isn't  it?" 


FOR    LIFB    AKD    LOVB.  B' 

My  eyes  ay«  mil  of  foolish  teors,  so  full  that  1  am  at  -  wJTi 

flow  over  nnil  attract  Aunt  iiosa's  atteutioa.  But  Aua,  ..^..„  ^s  iiol 
lookiniijat  me. 

**  Gooil-by:"  1  echo  mechanically. 

And  so  hf  leave*  me,  and  returns  to  his  studio  and  his  unSnished 
pictures,  while  1  pack  away  a  lew  tears  into  my  portmanteau— -th« 
firet  1  have  shed  bince  1  was  a  child. 


CHAPTER  VI, 

*'  Well,  Allic,  the  more  I  look  at  you,  the  mote  i  t&i;:k  you  'Jixg 
most  exiraordinary  girl  in  the  world!" 
•■  Extraordinary,  Olive?" 

*'  To  think  you  could  have  been  satisfied  with  those  t^,  rctckaci  old 
rooius  in  Carleion  Sirect  when  you  had  such  a  Inline  as  thial" 
"  I  n  :is  very  happy  in  Carleion  Street,"  1  auj>w..*r  dreamily. 
**  ILiy.-y!     Because  that  boy  was  there." 

"  And  i  was  not  a  bit  obliged  to  your  mother  for  bringing  Aunt 
Rosa  down  upon  Lne." 

"  But  maratna  did  not  like  your  belns;  there  alone,  Allie." 
•'  What  nonsense  1    1  am  my  own  mistrcj^s,  Oiive,  and  can  do  as 
Hike."  » 

"  Not  till  to  morrow,  my  dear,"  Olive  laughs.    **  After  to-mor 
row,  3'ou  can  p!e;\»<3  yoiirseit." 
"  And  I  n  do  it,  1  jissnre  you.'* 

We  ai\  ':  from  the  vicarage  to  Woodhay— it  is  only  a  ferv 

minutes'  \  .uk  throu-ih  the  wood.      It  is  June  weather— - 
weather;  all  my  woovis  are  a  mystic  tangle  otjireen  leaf  an^. 
and  lii'  ;.;'Li-dropping  sunshine,  all  my  nicadows  are  bloomy  p;; 
"    '■  .  '        for  the  scythe."    Jjctwecn  Woo<ihay  and  the  vicii...... 

a  little  rushing  brook,  and  beyond  the  brook,  on  my  sid 
'  ■    '  '"et  ot  woodland  runs  up  steeply,  with  a  wealth  o 
-  and  tangled  foliage  throwing  their  shadow  fnv 
y  combe.     It  is  up  this  southern  slope  that  we  are 
)  path  overhung  with  woodland  tatiirle  ot  wood- 
.•  bramble,  with  a  thousand  liny  fern^  and  velvet 
;  11'*  from  the  crevice  of  every  lieheu-^r^iticd  r  rk, 
:  of  that  boy  of  yours,  AilieY"  < 
'  steep  logxither.  baSiied  in  alterc, 

i  repeat  inanel}-. 

to  be  great  friends,  you  know,  though  I  think  yo: 

ru     jack  Hollestou  used  to  cimf?  him    ' 

allv  cared  awfuUv  for  jou,  Ailie,  j 
■  '        i-at  tool,  olive!" 

..  hadn't  much  8*»tv«p!    But  you  know  that 
:.  to  Brighton  for  P  1 

.»rking  himselt  into  a 

. ,  and  ii;e«nt  to  : 

ilil  !ueV'  1  r:'iviMi\v  .- ..,__ ..'Tfthonng 

■  does. 

;,"0!iv^  ■'"i:5"-^^"'>^iond6 


iO  FOR    LIFE    AKD    LOYE. 

head,  *' Poor  fellow,!  think  lie  met  with  some  dl^snppomtmeiit 
about  his  pi('.ture--he  was  ol  liged  to  sell  it  or  soiiieliiiiig,  aud  they 
only  gave  him  eighty  for  it,  whereas  Jack  said  he  valued  it  at  ov©r 
a  hundred,  and  it  would  not  have  been  a  penny  too  much," 

A  little  sharp  pain  runs  tluxnigh  my  heart  like  a  knife.  This  was 
what  1  had  dreaded — tliis  reaction  alter  possible  disuppointment. 

•'  1  am  sure  you  are  sorry  for  him,  ^YJlie,"  Olive  says,  looking  at 
me.  '*  We  used  to  call  him  3^our  handsome  sweelbejirt,  you  know — 
poor  boy,  he  used  to  follow  you  about  like  your  shadow!" 

"  You  speak  of  1dm  ?•«  if  he  were  dead,  01i\c,"  1  say  a  little 
sharply. 

*'  1  am  afraid  he  is  gring  to  the  bad,  and  that  is  worse,**  Olive 
observes  soberly.  "  1  met  Jack  RoliestOD  the  other  evening,  and  he 
told  me  he  hardly  ever  saw  Gerard  Baxter  now,  that  he  never  came 
to  Berkeley  Street,  and  Ihat  he  was  afraid  he  had  got  into  a  very 
\rild  set,  and  was  going  downhill  as  fast  as  he  could."     ■ 

Olive  is  preceding  m<3  up  the  steep  path,  and  has  enough  to  do  to 
maintain  her  tooting,  without  turning  her  head  to  look  at  me.  I  am 
glad  of  it.  If  she  had  looked  at  me,  she  must  have  noticed  the  ex- 
ceeding whiteness  of  my  face. 

*'  It  Is  a  great  pity,  you  know,"  she  went  on — Olive  likes  to  heai 
herselt  talk.  "  He  is  so  young,  and  so  remarkably  good  looking! 
Katie  Rolleston  told  me — you  know  she  came  down  to  Brighton  the 
day  before  1  left— that  he  y>a9sed  her  in  Regent  l^tre^t  tke  other  day, 
and  it  quite  made  her  heart  ache  to  3ee  how  shabby  he  was.  She 
said  she  would  have  spoken  to  him,  even  in  such  a  seedy  coat;  but* 
he  passed  by  without  looking  at  her.  1  suppose  he  knew  he  was 
rather  a  disrepufcdble-looking  figure  to  be  seen  speaking  to  any  lady 
ia  -ne  street." 

"  Is  he  still  lodging  in  Car-let  on  Street?" 

"  1  do  not  know,  Jack  knows  very  little  about  him.  He  says  ho 
doesn't  like  to-  seem  as  if  he  were  prying  into  hi-s  ail'airs,  aL.d  he  is 
such  a  proud  fellow.  Jack  says  it  would  ho  as  much  as  his  life  is 
wortti  to  offei*  him  a  good  luncheon  at  a  restaurant,  and  that  ho 
would Jie  pure  to  guess  it  was  because  he  looked  half  starved." 

"  r>oes  he  look  like  tliat?"  i  ask,  infinitely  distressed. 

**  Well,  he  looks  very  thin,"  Olive  says,  laughing  a  little.  **  I  say, 
Alli«,  they  are  putting  up  triumphal  arches  here;  did  you  know 
that?" 

"  1  heard  they  intended  doing  it.     We  witl  come  round  by  the 
garden,  Oli^e.    1  don't  waat  them  to  surround  us  like  a  swarm 
bees." 

Taming  from  the  glimpse  ot  the  lawn  and  carriage- drive,  seen  be- 
tween the  steins  of  the  walnut-trees,  1  open  a  little  gate  loading  into 
a  long  straight  walk  wailed  by  tall,  green,  fragi'ant  hedges  of  box 
and  yew, 

"  DoJtt't  ymi  mean  to  let  th&m  s«e  y©u,  Allie?" 

**  Not  to^-day,  if  J  can  help  it.  1  shall  have  enough  and  too  much 
^f  that  to-morrow," 

'*  JVIy  dear,  you  talti  as  it  coming  of  age  were  a  grievance!'* 

**  It  is  a  nuisance  to  me,  Olive," 

*'  You  will  teli  me  that  Woodhay  is  a  nuir^ance  to  you  nextl" 
*  Gi;»  so;  1  should  not  care  to  givts  up  vl^^o  s,  -•>' 


)  vii    i.ibi<i    ,".->!      LOVB.  41 

"i  sLou.a  luiriK  cotl'*    OUve  Tfliijartifl,  as  we  pass  ircm  the  coo? 

i'Cluded  frr\?en  wullc,  (hrouw^h  a  tail  urchway  cut  in  the  hedge,  ami 

tind  ourseivc'ti  in  a  blazo  ot  sunshine  and  scarlet  geranium,  -mk] 

brown  Vf'vet  culceclaria,  and  blu«  lobelia,  and  a  h\mdred  oliiei 

radiant  bloss.oins. 

"  A  Hie,  v.'heo  are  you  coming  to  live  here  at  Woodhay?" 

•'  To  live  lieri^?""  1  repeat  absently,  jay  eyes  on  the  gilded  weather- 

,^^,.  xv:,.cii  ivsinklca  like  a  star  on  (he  point  of  my  quaint  rod  brick 

1  »'u  have  done  nolhing  but  echo  me  since  -we  left  the  vicarage 

Vhen  urc.  yv.n  going  to  tak«  up  youi-  abode  here  in  your  own  manof 
-  -'"-'■         *   ■  ■  • 

ow.    Not  till  Uncle  Tod  is  too  old  to  do  duly,  proba- 
i)ly.     lie  .>  ui  never  leave  the  vicarage  till  tlten." 
'"  But  c.iu'r  you  live  here  without  your  Uncle  Tod?'* 
**By  mv.s' If,  Oliye?" 

•*  You  could  get  lots  ot  nics  elderly  ladies  to  come  and  live  with 
you." 
"  1  think  one  would  be  enoughl"  1  say,  shrugging  my  shoiUders. 
'*  Of  eourbe  I  incuu  one — at  a  time.     VVliy  wouldn't  your  Aunt 
'^  id  live  with  you  here?" 

I  would  not  leave  Uncle  Tod." 

^  jret  ihe  '^  I  Ilj'aciith  Lockhart  to  ccm« 

■  at  the  V . 
"  1  (i<  u  .  .  ouki.     The  iioverend  Hyacinth  has  set  up  for 

hhnscrlt  in  r  -you  know  the  pretty  cottage  near  the  church, 

just  out-i  k'  i.  i?  >,•;;. rage  uateV" 

**  Going  :*.  iiw.vrj  BomebodyV"  Olive  inquires,  with  great  inteiest. 
*'  Very  probacy,  though  1  have  not  heard  anything  about  it— as 
-et." 
**  1  hope  be  I-?  not  ffoing  to  marry  anybody,"  Olive  say*  pathetic- 
'ly.    •*  I  half  as  much  fun  wlien  I  come  down  here 

i  therf  '  .;th  Lockhart." 

"  ';  ,  you  iv.fuse  him  last  summer,  my  dear?" 

•'  <  quite  prepared  to  marry  him,  3^ou  know!    But  I 

'on't  vo:::  i  ;;u  ro  iiiarry  anylK)dy  else." 
*'  V';  '         .'  dog  in-tho  manner!    Come  in  and  have  some  straw- 
1  told  off  Digues  «ve  should  want  any  amount  of 

The  ol  ;l  butler,  who  has  lived  at  Woodhay  as  long  aa 

^         -  .[;a  a  great  deal  Fonger — meets  us  in  the  hall. 

•on,   IHggcs.      Where  are   the   ctra wherries  and 
.  e-um  ?  ■ ' 
**  In  h"re.  madam,"  Digges  says,  throwing  open  the  door  of  tha 

low  Toom,  with  carved  rafters  and  a  high  bbrk  onk 
^  it  rath«»r  a  somber  look.     But  tli-  .a 

"^  in  through  the  stained  alass  of  the  ; ;i- 

iiid  talis  in  blue  and  purple  and  ruby  i*ays  of 
le  of  the  iioor,  on  the  hcary  quaint  furni'iiro 
8  of  mv  ancestors  and  anccstrcsser?  huPirins 

"  •      ---il!  iu  :h  ■ '  '     ' 

loroJtith 


42 


inio  more   or'.cr:M:on,  ^liiie,      u.  ve    ej;'.!'vve.s,    r 
b'on.le  henri  at  llie  familj''  poi1i>!'i».      *'  li:  1  b 
I  b'jcioubieied  ijidies  iiuu  gen-ieuieo  lo 
•  ith  such  '  awful  ■j^pet'iilaf^m  '  in  th 
ill  ink  i  would  be  a  great  deal  more  siiS  and  ^ 
ill  ail  vou  AVI'..*' 

"  ]  n       ■  look  at  them,'*  1  confess  candiflly,  Ic 

<'Tiair,  TiJ.a  i:;ok?lni!;  al  tliefii  uovv  howevei'.     "  Wt  . 

•>!ive— (here's  not  a  doubt  about  it!    Hideously 

■1  ?tn(i  VvOincQl" 

i  p;;ppa-o  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  plain, 

at  me  over  l;fjr  shoulder. 

"  I  m  no  lii^uty,  >uy  dear.     Look  at  the  extr 
thafe  b'ue  ligiit  from  th.o  window  on  my  great  p- 
fare!    I)oi-:;n't  i!,  lor>k  exacliy  ns  if  somcboJy  hnci 
e}  V-  ? ' ' 
'  "  lAy  dr-ar  Allie,  if  Digircs  could  hear  you!" 

'  I'm  not  going  to  let  Dlgges  hear  me;  beeM 
Aunt  Rosa." 

"  Is  not  that  the  Lidy  whose  eyes  have  made 
in  yo-.i,  Allle,  after  lying  dormant  in  iho  tjimiiy.r<> 
or  ^o?" 

' '  i  believe  so.  xlnd  1  have  heard  that  sh3  was  tl 
w;\:r.nn  of  the  age  In  whi<"h  she  lived." 

'■  Her  eyefs  are  exactly  the  color  o/  j^ours,  Allie- 
bl.'o  i;ray,  like  an  autiurin  io%.'* 

"it  does  not  sound   wel!,"  1  laugh,  shru|:?gi' 
*•  Fo!2'gy  e'yes  don't  give  one  the  idea  of  an}tl 
Olive,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  can't  eat  any  m 
*'  ]  am  reduc/fd  to  that  de|  lorable  plight,  my  dv 
i.ooking  at  the  table,  with  its  delicate  appoint!- 
•  Iver,  ili*  driiaty  tlovi'^ers,  the  cake  and  cream  and 
"  •  ■     .  my  hedit  aches,  tiunking  of  m\'  '>-• 
•re  is  food  and  tt>  spava  in  my  ; 
'   on  the  fat  of  the  ,]tvnd.     The  Lhou^^ 
tin  Jhiou.n'h  my  heiirt  again. 

va  and  see  vrhj-.t  they  have  don^ 


priin 


ilher'b 
black 


as  deaf  ai» 

a^^aia 

j^  headed 

.ide  of 


aes!  of 


Ofire  .ssya,  ireMin;^-  up  from  the 
•  {'r«  iire  to  be  aonjcthing  splendid- 
:.t  till'  ]i5of?o('>4  t:nd  ^..^.g." 


they 
r  the 


•    1  >'\-y.i^a  ;!:;('  exc:'c-;;nL;iv  to  si!;;:;f'  yo'i! 
■cail  my  r6$prvf.ab'e  arioe^sfoiti,  OHve?" 
'  is^ioie  thf-.m  nil.     Oh,  Allie,  1  lor:^ot  io  r  min. 
to   '-.^  coni'ectiourr!     "We  left  it  lying  on  the  at^wly 

"It  v;iil  be  late  lor  past  tlien  "unless  1  : 
Un-h  To^l  to  t-hii  p«;-ugf^  of  it," 

0  a.sks  readily. 


nciwf ! 


ni.  V.-;; 

1   th;f   1 


;ue  before  he 
he  T\-ouUl  hiivs- 


.  iiiciiitle  noisy  brown  rivev 
■t.  tl«  0^■  •'  -•  •  r.cka  w!? 

.  finii  tr  ,  .■■■  ot   biii 

■';,  I  niii  i;...i::i!)^^  ot   c 
a  droHiuini;'  for  the  !: 
tiic  qiu'rition  whioh  not 
■  i!'i  Jie  not.  have  found  iv. 
10  tell  me,  in  tlie  .nloornN 
vj  1  hey  not  tli«  very  i as l    .. 
il-by  V    lie  Ims  not  ior^^otl en 

_._  .  .  iiie— KG  1  rcpM-at  to  myself  for: 

tiie  liionght  is  in  my  lieart,  1  ruiKo  my  oye*jan(l  sc- 
''ore  in(%   ■  ■         '       :  at  and  shabby,  in  Uie  soft 

■,  tf  i?U'  V,  '  1. 

"  '  .  and  yet,. the  realify  of  Lis 

Ktf*r  L  Had  he  been  to  my  ihcivzi; 

H-3  juuwcis  ijoiijiu,£^,  not  a  sinde  word,  onl; 
r/  rae  tii  it  1  "s^-ere  a.gbosii      But  it  is  lic  T,i;o 
bis  tonner  salf. 

"  GciarV   "''Te  bave  j^-> 
hero?' 

"  1  have  cu;i.(!  from  London,     nu  duswx-if-, 
-ri  his  fice — "  from  London,  to  sco  3'ou." 

"jter  cliiil:i  me,  and  scua 


on  my 


n.i  o'l 
.  Hafl 
t.  If 
is-ro? 
^ni  in 

;.l   in 


a-r  be- 
ladow 

nrcely 


.rai  Llci' 


'■  \oa  I. a. 

"  No,"  he 
"  1  shall  nev(. 

1  am  <"'>i^- 
him,  an;: 


>  led  me  Uiat  you  have  f' 
,  a  duisky  red  coming  ini: 
( i)me  to  teli  you  tiuiL" 
•  >'  -^  '">!  a  fecdng  of  reliei'.     1 
:icr  hiul  secined  like  the 


.1  (:!i(>c^ 


liaud 


'  :u)(l  .^badow,  looking  wit 

'  TCpP^U,  ?»,lniC£J 

ii^iit  i'l  ;  "  1  wi 

"  iiui  i  e..;i;  ; ;••  i ^.-..  . 

Vttor  ad,  what  docs  :)rjv;)!ijij:  mntier,  if  we  lo 

*•  It  wo  In '^  ..r  ....'••. *..  

eyes  devoni'^ 

"If  yoii  1  i,  i  can  lo: 

"  I  tried  1;  .s   bixikon'y, 

tried  hnnl  lo  i  ..  \va!;l.y  wf  you,  Al/uv  ' 
*•  I  kno'.v  yni;  f^<r^''  1  nnr^wer  lenderL 

Ociard— 1  ha 


ni  in 
,10  his 


v.:y-"l 
al?out  iff 


It  was  a  bad  day  lor  you  "wben  you  caietJ 

<:>r  u)e — ■  ■  -u  «-yiv. '" 

"  I  dk;  Olid  gravelv,  Lojdin^  my  heart  as  high  as  his 

or  yon,  ixu^  I  caj"e  for  you  still!" 
,^^.       .....     ...  cxcluims  quickly  aud  pasMOnalely,  stretchinir 

ut  tiis  iiaods  as  if  to  ke^p  rny  words  away.     "  1  am  not  worthy  o 
ou — ^3'outmist  not. waste  aooiLer  thought  on  such  a  miserablo  dc- 
radeci  vrrtit.ch  as  1  am!" 

"  But  if  I  iox^8  vou,  Gerard?" 

*   Bill  yon  do  not  know  how  low  I  have  fallen,  child, " 

"  Not  so  lo-y  l(!ix  that  1  can  reach  to  lift  you  up,  with  Heaven's 

ip,"  i  F.iij,  ifi  iiie  same  grave  tender 'quiet  way.  "  Do  not  thrust 
\c  away,  C'crard.  1  should  DOt  be  a  woman  if  1  turned  Irmu  you 
eca\ise  you  were  unfortunate — if  you  liad  been  ioitunate  i  might 
ot  have  cared  for  you  halt  as  much." 

"  You  are  an  angel!"  he  returns  brokenly;  but  lay  head  is  turned 
way  from  me.  lie  makes  no  movement  to  cross  the  yard  or  two  of 
.!Ossy  p;i''-   •"  ^  ""lint  of  sunshine  nnd  flicker  of  dancing  shadow, 

liich  dr.  rr-m  each  other. 

"  You  i  i'ered  since  1  saw  you  last,"  1  say,  with  a  pilif u' 

■ance  at  .  ii  hollow  cheeks  and  faded  eye.s. 

'*  SuffetL^.!  '  lit-  echoes,  with  an  indescribable intnnation.  "  Allie, 
:  VOU  cared  lor  me — us  you  say  you  did — wLv  didn't  you  nuirry 

■'  li:i.rdea  to  wlut'  ..  ..../,  '^,^k 


v.\<(,  of  poverty?    What  lun.i^^  n   nu  .:, id  starved 

'getuar!  nild  not  have  starred — you  would  have  given 

ivLii.    And  if  we  had  s'tarved  one  day,  we  shoul  ' 

•xt — we  feho'.dd  have  been  liUe  tv.o  ciiiklren — \v; 

ouiu  b.  and  laughed   lOgPiL'Ml     vTe  should  have  been 

■ppy.  A  ■'"C  v.'e  should  have  jo^^ed  each  other;  hut  we  have 


'--n  tcr 


,  /.    It  it  had  not 

QCel  shoultl  have  thought  that  he  was  mad,  or 
'  -o  much  wine.     But  1  do  '^"i  ''■•^'  ••■^  look,  or 
lis  eye^. 

■J,  stretching  out  my  liaLn:  lo  lir.u,     "There 
vho  w^ould  say  that  J  had  acted  wisely;' but  1 
.0  '  ui  '  {  did  not.    1  ought  to  have  married  you,  or 

rbidt"!  :  of  me  at  nil." 

1  i lose  ha «:gord  hunjiry  eyes — looks  at  mv  face, 

'jsiio  movement  to  lake  my  out.*tretcheii  hand. 

lecture.  Aide.     I  wisli  1  coukl  piiint  you  in  tha- 

-    -  all  those  tangled  leaves  for  backgi-ound,  youi 

ad  ihM;  )  dclicatc'ly  agj^inst  that  patcii  of  pale  biue*sky. 

)u  look  nd  ."^vveet  9jk1  good.     Wiiat   right  had  1  to  drag 

u  (urM)  a  life  ot  struggle  and  poverty  with  met" 

'  ''  '  1  ought  *o  have  been  glad  to  shai*e  it.     1  ought 

"'U  alone  Jo  baitle  v.ilh  poverty  and  (rmptnlion. 

;,  sMfish  /Tiif.takp  1  made^th  "  s  me 


above  ali  waui   i  inis:bt  have  placed  him—  i;.:); 

bttve  stiug^icd  with  the  woiid  which  has  treat 

*'  Aud  jut,  ii"  I  loved  you  as  1  ought,"  he  says  \  ht 

0  be  glad  to  see  you  "here — hoppy  amoug  all   '  y 

things.     I  wondei,     he  adds,  v/ith  a  short  cold  thakt  you 

even  condescend  to  speak  to  a  poor  shabby  ov.t  ;;  v.: etch. 

like  me?" 

"  Do  jou  wonder?"  1  ansvrer  a    little    cole.,.        ^^^  .,^. 
have  but  a  poor  opinion  of  rae,  Mr.  Baxter." 

*'  1  was  9o  sure  you  had  forgotten  me.     Tou  had  sefimed  to  t ..: 
for  me  so  little  always — it  was  1  wl)0  had  cared  tor  you.     I  said  ( 
If  '  She  will  despifee  me— she  will  not  believe  '  ny  more.' 

I  hat  unido  mo  reckless  — 1  did  not  c&re  what  at  me — I 

.o  not  care  now." 
"But  I  care." 

"  Do  you?"  ho  asks  a  little  curiously,  looking  down  into  my 
face. 

**  How  often  must  I  tell  you  1  love  you,  Gernrd?" 
"  But  you  must  hate  me,  Allie,  from  this  day  for-'"-  •  " 
"  Did  you  come  here  to  tell  nie  this?" 

"  1  came  here  because  1  felt  that  1  must  see  yo'  >  you 

now  that  it  is  nearly  three  mouths  ::ince  1  saw  yo. 
How  well  I  know  it!    But  1  only  ask  gravely  ami  co^di}'— 
*'  Hovv--  did  you  find  me  out?" 

vv  you  lived  here  with  3'our  uncle.    You  told  me  he  w;i 
yman  of  this  place." 
"  Where  are  you  staying?    At  Yattenden?" 
*'  At  the  inn  there.     1  came  down  to  make  >  .  ...  ,. 

Hi-  ::il)orhood,"  he  adds,  smiling— a  very  faint  :  a\  gml], 

'  ihere  are  some  pretty  bits  about  here — at  AVt  •.<>  Uiey  teii 

m^.    But  1  suppose  1  could  not  venture  to  carry  n  and' easel 

in  here  without  the  owner's  Jeave?" 
"  1  can  get  that  for  you  very  easily." 
'■'  1. suppose  you  know  tlie  j)eople  who  live  here?" 
"  I  know  every  onp  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  The  sketches  are  not  ct  much  moment — it  was  to  see  you  that 
T.  fame.     1  had  something  to  tell  you — eomethin"   T  imwr  s-iy  to 
ou—" 

"  And  1,"  I  interrupt,  with  a  happy  thrill  at  m    l.    w. —    i  have 
)methlng  to  say  to  you,  Gerard.     But  1  have  a  fancy  lor  saying  it 
I';  morrow— you  will  know  why  afterward.     11  yon  come  here  to 
mon'ow,  I  will  tell  you  a— secret." 

will  keep  till  to-mofrow,"  he  s. 
1  w!>ich  a  drowning  man  will  cai 
it  wili  be  soni  .^  live  for,  to  think  that  i 

**  If  you  CO'  .  fxxlhay  lo  morrow,  you  v, 

"  1  am  in  no  trim  for  fetes,"  he  answers,  bitterly  -lance  at 

liii  threadbare  sleeve. 

*'  Oh.  th<'re  will  be  all  kinds  of  people  here  t 
"  Even  beggars  like  me!    Is  it  a  school  i"' 

'*  The  ownt'r  of  the  place  is  coming  ot  ot  notice 

'^     rlumji^ai  arches  they  are  putting  up  ail  iiio:ig  lucroaa  Irom  tiio 


46  FOLi  ::VK. 

"  !No,  i  vHnie  licroir^s  the  fic'ds  iroui  Jbe  vilujgtj.  iViy  landlord 
told  me  tibtre  was  a  rijfbi  of-vruy,  cvei;  .m'  t^uch  trwinps  us  J." 

"  1  am  sure  mine  bosi  of  tiie  '  hjta^'.s  tiwui  '  d:ti  uol  say  auything 
so  uncivi;.  >'-'^"  ^  -hoiild  you  iiuveuoLLe  ii'  yju  liad  uotmetme  here 
to-day?" 

"  Loaica  jinout  me  victiruge  tii!  I  did  meet  yon,"  lie  aiiswers, 
•with  a  gieam  of  the  old  boyish  fuu  in  his  hoi  low  eyes. 

His  iiiuniier  would  have  saddened  me  if  1  did  not  know  how  he 
will  langh  at  his  waut  of  faith  in  ine  to-mono^v. 

"  I  must  go,"  I  say  at  last,  thinking  how  Olive  wdl  wonder  what 
has  becomeof  me;  '"  but  you  will  be  sure  to  come  lo-morrow?" 

"1  will  come,"  he  promises,  looking  at  me  with  the  sad  eyes 
which  trouble  mo.  "1  shall  see  you  to-morrow,  Allie,  and  after 
that— the  Deluge." 

But  that  is  not  the  programme  I  arrange  for  myselt,  as  1  run  up 
the  pa.th  through  the  vicarage  garden,  between  the  cabbages  and 
rows  of  currant  and  gooseberry  busiies. 


CHAPTEIl  VII. 

'^'  Allie,  you  have  an  amazing  power  of  adaptability.'* 
*'  How  do  you  mean?" 

"  Why,  to-day  you  look  as  if  you  had  been  acting  the  Lady- 
Bountiful  all  your  lite." 

*'  Becfiuse  a'set  of  old  men  and  women  and  school -children  don't 
make  me  neivous?" 

•'  But,  when  the  band  struck  up  and  they  began  to  cheer,  I  declare 
it  nearly  made  me  cry !  And  you  were  as  cool  as  a  block  of  W^en- 
ham  Lake  ice — you  never  even  changed  color,  while  1  was  trembliBg 
like  a  leaf." 

"  Every  one  is  not  audi  a  goose  as  you  are,  Olive." 
Uncle  Tod  has  just  returned  thanks,  in  my  name,  for  the  cca- 
iratulatory  speech  which  Mr.  Prout,  the  steward,  has  delivered,  and 
AG  welcome  and  good  wii^hes  for  my  future  happiness  which  he  h:^" 
xpressed  on  behalf  of  himself  and  ot  my  tenantry,  who  have  ei) 
a?.isized  each  card  uUy-prcpared  compliment  and  laboied  pleasantry 
vith  rnth'^r  ir.dis^rTivninating  cheers  and  laughtcT.  But,  if  they  are 
mused,  ■  id  only  an^tious  to  get  it  all  over  as  quickly 

s  1  cr.n. 

I  am  s^acding  with  Uncle  Tod  on  the  low  balcT^ny  or  terrace  h.- 
fore  the  hall -dour,  at  Ihe  top  of  tjie  wide  shallow  flight  of  stone  ster 
.  ading  dov.n  to  the  drive.     A  crowd  of  well-dressed  people  stand 
ohind  1!     '  •■  ■   "  nearest  to  me.     Aunt  Rosa  is  in  the  open  drawing- 
oom  wi  :i  a  whole  party  of  elderly  ladic*s;  there  are  f ac 

>  V  of  the  pic'turoscnie  old  red-brick  house.     But  th; 
0  the  sea  of  faces  in  front  of  us;  the  whole  village — an 
jI  only  liic  village,  but  the  country-side — set^ms  to  have  tniued  out 
->  welcome  rr^y  r.'.Uicr's  child  to  the  house  from  whicli  they  hud  seen 
-those  oi  them  who  were  old  eaougii  to  remembf 
■  tears  and  lumcntations  <^f  a  t^nunlry  which  idoi 
ized  him  a«,  i  amiifraid,  lliey  will  never  idolize  me. 
1  sij'Ti;!  (i\,'u\  .Muietly  at  Uncle  Tod's  elbow,  looking  down  at  the 


I'OB    LITE    AXD    LOVE. 

crow  :  (be  dear  old  man.  bareheaded,  his  silver  lock*  glisten 

UK'  •-  lie  5;iiDJili:ne,  snys  hh  few  pleasant  fathei  ly  wordx  to  tho 

■,  sur.I  irfclvos  u  iKsurtj  cJj«er  or  two,  at   which  he  sniiks, 

^  ^  •.    Then  the  crowd  scatter  jiway  lo  the  rt.rious  iiniud*- 

ri  d  f(<r  them,  which  Jirc  to  occupy  the  time  betore  tin 

■.'S  in  tiie  niatTTipog  on  the  lavrn. 

and  SOP  the  ciiiMrt-n  dance!"  Olive  says;  and  she  and  I 

u\  half  a  dozen  oihtis— Gv.s  Deane  and  young  Algy  Dullcrin  and 

-.Ir.,  Lockhart  amona:  Uietn— m;ike  our   way  to  ttie  old  croquet- 

^onnd,  where  the  riiildren   rich  and  poor,  are  dancing  merrily  to 

*?ic  muwic  of  the  vi.'laiAe  lirass-band. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for?"  Giis  Deane  asks,  standing  besid 

'•♦Looking  for?" 

"  You  seem  to  be  searching  in  the  crowd  for  some  one  or  some- 
;ing." 

"Oh,  J  cxptTted  a  triend  here  tv^-day!"  1  answered  carelessly. 
1  dare  say  he  is  here — somewhere  in  the  crowd." 
'*  Will  he  not  come  up  and  speak  to  youV"  Gus  questions,  sur- 
piised. 

"  Of  course— by-and-bj'." 

Island  up,  very  tall  and  straight,  in  the  cltai  >inn-v  mai  is  left 
for  nin  wherever  1  move  tD-da}'.     The  sunshine  gilds  my  birthday 
1  the  woods  aie  bathed  in  it;  it  dreams  on  the  smooth 
a  lip  I  lie  green  Iriumplial  arches  and  the  leci  and  white 
m  long  ieiiioons  airainst  the  cloudless  blue ot  the  sky. 
ne  very  cool  and  quiet;  but  she  dots  not  know  how 
iL";  un'ler  my  cream-colored  bodice  sIumIkuI  wit' 
..  ...  tx'atlng  becau^ic  1  am  the  c»  nter  oT  attraction  her 

)  day,  ri  ::  at  llie  sound  ot  the  jnusic  or  the  cheering,  but 

'   ■■  hirig  for  an  opportunity  to  steal  awt  y  to  meet  my 

Aix)d— my  lover  who  is  t^aiting  theie  lor  me. 

1  shabby  and  hj'.ggard  and  unfortunate — 1  love 
(1  Mi'ver  have  loved  him  if  he  had  betn  well- 
perous— ^lis  1  could  never  hfive  loved  ai: 
.  3'oung  men  who  are  cro'vdinT  .'''^'Ut  r; 
Mien  lovc  best  wljHt  most  cx' 
ujx)u  ihem  for  comfort  and  < 
am  everything  to  him— because,  un 
•      1  long  to  take  him  by  th<'  ha'vi    ; 
He  shall  suller  no  more  { 
I  to  hand  with  want  and    ' 
■  lore!     1  will  help  him  t- 


vff  (^nt  1  am  fbe  Tirro* 

.cs  have  ;• 

>..vpicion  oi    .  ) 

will  wonder  at  m^ 


4:8    '^  ¥0R    LIFE    A'SCD    I.GVE. 

Hubfina  '.iat?  linftd  with  the  sairm  &is3^ey  hue  Rrd  r>'7i*v«<>f!  xtr^ih.  soft 
c-'r   i)  Oo  not  come  out  ©f  quiet  r<  —even 

1;  i;!rn   .  ;0w- as  R)uch  as  tbatj     Bnt  1.  look- 

^1      well.     Uhve  bf.'s  told  iTie  tlmt  shtt  D(r  dl 

L^ior!^  ;!t>  1  am  i(»okmg  io.-duy. 

i  mp  away  irom  thfjm  all  i\t  kist,  into  the  f.Mrt"  n  the  long, 

cool,  jivoni.'tiic  ailf.y  of  bo<^  and  yew,  imo  tlje  ^.  r.  ;,lu1  eraorald 
mu/^-ea  oj:  the  wood.  The  path  is  very  sleep:  but  i  hurry  clown  it  — 
down  into  the  cool  depths  of  my  f^liiidowy  co:  '^e  is  there 

\vaii.iti;4-  tot  me,  li^aning  ovw  a  bit  of  ivied  wall.  Jowd  into 

lh«  river — '.he  noi\r  rushing  livisr^  which  d:o  -:ant  Xuusic 

aad  ihe  hum  of  the  crowd. 

"  Gerard,'*  I  cry  joytuHy— "  GciardI" 

H(5  turns  nt  tlie  sound  of  my  vokx?. 

"  Why  didn't  you  com€  and  see  us  raakii-;  up  at  the 

liouse?" 

"  1  did  not.  caro  to  ^o;  1  have  bo  heart,  for  merry-makiDg/' he 
KH^s  a  liule  sallenly,  lookina;  at  ms,  "  Tliey  ■vvere  iriakjng  8nch  a 
3'!!i;se,  shoutinp;  and  dancing.  Aiid  you — I  suppose  you  were  i*>  the 
middle  oil  r,  aliv" 

'•  Yes,"  1  answer,  smilinc:  n  liltle — "  in  th' 

"  You  look  like  it.     Wi;y  tire  yoc  dressed  ( 

"  Everj'body  puts  on  grS-^,  at! ire  tor  ?ueh  a  : 

"  Tlien  i!  vras  weli  i  did  not  vanture  in  ymor,/,^  ',y  ra^ft!'* 

"(rCMVird."  I  f^ay,  lakinn;  him  by  the  hsuxd  qu  "">^.  v..--:in 

me:  i  want  lo  teil  you  something — something  t; 
glad," 

"  Kothinq:  coukl  mnke  me  £rkid,"  he  re! 
br.nd  ?ia  ii  h  sliu^g  him,  "  ■  :  io  knovvti:at  lu 

clay  i  had  to  live, 

"  Geiard,  all  this  plr.cc  Is  n.ine;  it  is  for  mc  'J;ey  are  making 
all  this  noise  which  vexes  you!  Woodhay  is  mine, "and  1 — 1  am 
yours,  it  you  will  have  me!" 

He  shires  at  mc  In  bewiiderment. 

"  WootihHy  is  mine,  Gerard — do  you  hear?" 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me?"  he  a.%ks  slow';'^  ^i^sh 

risinj»  to  his  face,  up  to  his  very  lor^ih^ead. 

"Because  1  thought  you  knew,  at  l^rst;  anu  lu-u,  ui^aiuse  1 
wanted  to  try  you— whether  you  loved  me  tor  nnself  ulone." 

"  Ajid  i  dared  to  ask  you  to  m-ariy  me?"  he 'says,  staring  at  me 

m  the  sam.e  bewildered  w^ay.     "  1  am'not  surprised  that  you  refused 

y  "  — wiUi  a  short  cold  laugh.    "  1  am  not  surprieedthat  you 

i   my  magnanimous  offer  that  flight  in    Beikeiey   Street! 

ileaveijii,  huw  yoii  must  liave  laughed  at  me!" — aai  heHums  awaj 

in  a  sudden  passion  of  anger  and  resentment. 

"  1  did  not  laugh  at  you,  Gerard.  Oh,  Gerard,  you  are  treatiag 
me  very  badly — " 

*'  Don't  cry,"  he  says,  but  without  looking  at  re  —  "  don't  cry, 
or  3''ou  will  drive  me  mad." 

"  You  will  drive  me  mnd!  What  have  1  done  that  you  should  be 
so  hard  to  me — «o  cruel—" 

*'  Yon  >:r;ve  done  noli),      .  is  1  who 

"  '  ■■  are  not  ruined.     We  siiall  by  . 


FO?:  ;:.  41 


•  il  liou'  Inv^jau^se  icrtii  ^ive  ii  to  yvn." 
;ll^ .  a  look  of  paxsionute  siiame  and  ao*Tii-5ii 
'  Don't  talk  like  iLut,  cifi  d:  youcai^  ^:o 

- ^it,  1  have  done  for  m^'seiT." 

te.     No  m-dAiev  what  yo-.i  have  clone,  1  love  you, 
many  yon  to  monoxv*'  il  you  like." 
!"  he  SKjs,  tnkiug  me  by  the  wvjst  with  a  grasp 
:.•   uri;isf)a  iiiy  tiesh.     '-' Lislen  to  m>i  ior  a  minute. 
■  I  coiiie  hert  to  tell  you  something,  Alllo — soraethiag 
ri'orc  to  tell  Hum  it  will  huit  30a  to  hear." 
;  a'  k,  fri^chiened  by  Ibe  str.-intre  lurid  clow  which 
uess  of  his  eyes, 
ich  will  make  you  h... ;  .... 
"  '.  (.'  .  v/!'ist,"  1  say,  pitwusly. 

'     '  n!"    he    e.xncJuinis,  and,  ttoui-n-    M;u-u.ii.y,  he 

isn't  it  hard  tliat  1,  who  would  lie  down  and  die 
',  if  1  could,  must  hurt  you?" 
iiurt  me  much,"  i  aoawer,  smiling  through  some 

AUIe,  walk  up  and  down  here  with  me 
>vuile  1  tell  you  my  sloi'y— justlieie — i  shall  not 
10c  " 

i  down,  through  liie  sunshine  and  the  shadow, 
river  in  our  cirs.     Aa  lou^  »«  1  live  1  ehall  re 
.uues — not  more  than  ten  are  they,  though  they 
pain  and  sorrow  to  us  both. 
'  reckless,  Allie.     1  did  not  care  what  became  of 
was  to  liave  made  my  lorluae  went  for  ' 
od  to  find  oblivion  where  the  wretched  ■ 
ior  u  •  and  lost  what  little  s>elf-respect  remained  10 

mc.  ar  ;;  of  ever  winumg  you."  . 

"  ■  Jence — " 

"  "  fi'.     And  it  was  so  c.  .  ...  _..  down-hilL  .so 

up!    A  loituight  alter  my  picture  went, 
;.  .1  ..V.  il)  London,  ashamed  to  show  my  fac->  i-\ 
1  Ijave  been  a^^hamed  to  show  it  ever  since." 
flicker,  the  river  biawls  aniuuir  its  mossy  bov 
H  swell  of  music  comes  tons  on  the  soU  brc;  ::, 
V.     1  do  not  j^penk— 1  let  hiai  toll  Ids  story  iu  his? 
Il,  when  he  has  fuushed,  1  will  tell  him  imnr>. 
.  woman  named  White — u  wretched 
oi  a  color  Herg^-ant.     She  said  her  k 
a  wild  m«?dieal  student  who  had  got  ii 
I'd  in  her  hoU5e.  boarding  with  her.     1  o,,^^^  ..> ; 
her  bill  run  on— if  she  had  not,  1  must  have 
cud  to  myself.     I  was  too  sliabby  to— to  think  ot 
ul  employment.  I  had  sold  evcrvthing  for  ^^h u  h 
tu  the  locket  with  my  mofher's  hair.     The 
; — a  girl  whom  1  had  oficn  admired  for  her 
0  U)ok  it  into  her  hf*;\d  to  full  in  h  me." 

;i  ^rniu*  ot  ang'ry  scern  aud  hu.  a.     1  say 


50  Fou  LIFE  a:nj)  loa^e. 

"Tbe  niotlier  knew  i  was  a  gentieman.  and  eni 
faseiiiated— iK'Vvitfhed  b)'  the  child's  beauty.     1 
not  care  whal  becinie  of  me.     And  she  was  fon.i  v-i  ..  x, — i 
ber  the  insiicc  to  say  that  she  was  iond  of  me,  n'ir-:?'i'jlt; 
that  1  was.''  ~"r. 

"And  you  lovel  her!"  1  say  quite  quietly,  :  '  .'^art  !« 

beatino;  lovr  in  its  passionate  pain. 

The  raouient  lie  incntloiied  the  woman's  name-  ,..i<  .i.-. 

b(M*ed  the  .j^irl  1  ]iud  seen  iu  London --the  youn  nngied 

red  gold  hair,  \viil»  an  exquisite  innocent  face,  w.  ,  ulvety 

eyes  thai   looked  dark  ns  night  under  their  b];ick  -i  face 

whose  exceeding  beauty  1  Lad  envied,  not  dreaming  '    -vaR: 

to  be  to  me. 

*'  Ino,"  he  answers  quietly  enough,  "  1  did  not  love  hoi,  Allie — I 

sliall  never  love  any  woman  but  you.     Eat  1  married  L:  r." 
*  -;«■  *  >  w  * 

*'  Gerard,  will  you  let  me  help  you— in  the  only  w  V 

We  are  standing,  looking  at  eik-h  other  with  whi;  i  faces*, 

set  and  stern.     It  is  all  over  now— the  miserable  sh  ded — 1 

know  the   ^vorst.     And,  if  the  telling  of  it  has  brou  ngitish 

which  is  almost  intolerable  to  me,  it  seems  to  hav  certain 

relief  with  it  to  him — a  sense  of  having  dared  and  .■  worst. 

*'  You  ofler  me  charity?"  he  says;  but  he  says  ii  'u\x,  ^\u\\  T.  may 
hurt  him  now;  he  will  not  retaliate,  having  hurt  m  -  f;o  miTch  al- 
ready. 

"  1  oflcr  you  of  my  abundance,"  I  answer,  think  

plea^'ar.  or  profit  my  abundance  Vvill  be  to  me  hence  Lor y/ard.  *'  1 
ask  you,  ns  a  lavor  to  me,  to  let  me  lend  you  w^-  -  '  '''  '"  "c,.v«a 
to  me — if  you  wiii  be  so  good." 

1  use  the  word  "  lend  "  advisedly,  as  more  p;ii;i.:',  •  ui.-^  x;ri'.u.^ 

than  the  v.'ord  "give."  He  looks  at  me,  shame  and  bot  row  and 
regret  strugding  i«  his  face. 

"Allie,"  he  exclaims  pa?-sionately,  "is  it — c; 
that  you  care  for  an  unfortunate,  good-ior-uoLhii:  wreick 

like  me?' 

It  is  my  turn  to  draw  buick  now-  misenibly  indigut?:!:. 

"  You  dare  to  say  tills  to  me,  Gerurd  Baxter — to  \v-  ■    ' 

"  But  haU  an  hour  ago— live  miiiutcs  ago,  you  to"  at  you 

loved  me,"  the  Ixr.-  sa}>,  a  light  of  iwr^slonaie  Iriur  's  hag- 

gard  eyes.     "Even  a  woman  cannot  love  one  minu  ate  the 

next!" 

"  No,"  I  answer  quietly;  "  1  do  not  think  they  can,  ' 

He  looks  down  iuio  niy  eyes— looks,  and  turns  his 

"  To  tliiuk  tk'it  i  have  lost  you,  Allie — you  whc 
than  ail  the  world!"  *       . 

"  ilush!"  1  exclaim  almost  vindictively.  "  Think  «  rtchcd 

child  you  have  niarncd!    Do  not  make  m.e  despise 
belt!" 

"Despise  me!"  he  echoes  with  the  quick  hard 
worse  than  a  sob.     "  1  wonder  what  else  you  c;m  doi 

"  1  pity  you:  and,  if  you  will  let  me  hy'p  }0U  —as  if  to 
own  brolhcr—1  shall  count  it  a  kiudneas.  And  uu 
will  be  cuiiinir  lor  me." 


vo::    LIFE    AKD    LOVE.  51 

10  It:;  i!  says  bitterly;  "  wh 

3Iy  he;irt  bieeti^  lor  iiim,  asl  look  at  \he  sir 
-^-'o!i  oHii-  '   '■"     r  bis  throudUire  coiU.     '  f 
I'lcred  1)  y;  but  1  do  not  dare. 

urn  bave  ^inn  m  ihe  revels  tor  me,"  i  a.: 
rn;  and,  as  bo  looks  into  uiy  eyes,  he  seem- 
:'■  iniUi,  for  his  ow'n  cloud  over, 
'  1  wjvs  not  woi-:liy  ot  you,  Allie, "  lie  says  bro^ 
'^n  justly  punished,  though  my  puuishmeii'  <  au 

r.'"'  •  •      . 

"on  are  yonncr,  Gerard — the  world  is  befoic 
i:  ,!.ti  M  f;  Ml  start.     Want  of  means  shall  n.(; 
dl  be  famous,  and  I  shnll  bf 


in;dce  a  fresh  start — 1  will  .or  your 

..■c,  ;i!.u  .^-jr.u  d.y.or  otlier  we  may  be — friends. 
Th(v  Mie  ills  hiat  words  to  me. 


Tc  brcn  looiviiii;  icr  you  cvcrTwiicre,  A 

e  the  prizes  to  tlw)  boys  who  have  won  i 

■  yo'i'  Seen  u  ghost?    You  look  as  wl;'  ;" 

ti'cd,"  Oiive  says,  prdting  hpr  arm   ,  d  draw- 

:  me  n  the  excited  ;^roup  on  the  ter 

ijt*r  8;nii  lr;e  pxve  away  the  prizes,  dc 

;dd  do  it  just  as  well.'* 

>j.ivc  ](.:uii>  lu;'  inr,)  uk'.  iioi;.-^;.'.     i  iic  f.\c:t(.".!(  :>  uuif'h 

r  me— so  everybody  Fays.     Oiive  tnkes  oft'  nt\  s  m.-  on 

•.  and  1  lie  there  quite  quietly,  hoUl  !.     The 

a  nKMTkly.     1  hear  the  music  and  the  jtnis  to 

lie  and  ^o  curion^^i}',  8\vcll.":g  and  dyiui^  aw:: 
"  Shut  it  oul!"  1  Siiy  we;iriiy.     *'  Shut  llu;  w  :  T  n;,) 

(■d  of  listenin<?  to  that  river,  and  the  sunshiii 
/e  me  that  sli'-e!  <^"  music — I  know  Mada-iiie 
r  m6  to  sing. 


CHAPTER   Vlll. 


'1,'  ■:)..: 


sunshine  dreams  along  ,i . 
;>oks,  seen  fiom  the  sh'adowy 
.  1  ui.u.v ;  ;iif  li;^ht  slants  more  froju  ;' 
left*:nel>ere  to  rest  for  a  lilUe,  ^\*hi;. 
':irt  to  pl:!y  tennis  atlcr  luncheon. 

.:  wano  A',:-  I's!  jtir  comes  in  tiir(>tj<.^h  '  ;(h- 

turnin;;-  m;  '  can  ieel  it   • 

^rc  are  t'Af  to  Il\is  qua' 

jce  in  llie  ' 

'   "s  n!;;r  the  2.  .  ,    . .:, 

-ili  oid-i.  ..cir 


52  3J0R    Li 

/eaden  settlui  i  ca»  see  my  fibwecs  bliizivrg  in  the  sunshme,  )say  pet 

'  i  lue  sloue  balusijjade,  ray  three  tawuy  black- 

ei*  one  a-nolber  oa  the  sirjooth  gravel,  the  bosky 

iK-^y.  u.  ■  .,aJ.  and,  far  awa}',  a  high  blue  hill,  so  fainl  with 

he:-..t  tiu..  . ,-..  So  lose  iis  outline  in  the  cloiid"^. 

I  look  u-  i^  ;;i  fi'i!  drevijnily,  with  a  curious  kind  of  languid  un- 
concern. It  is  nut:  wenluijegs  or  lazJness — lor  ray  sirength  has  quite 
come  badi  to  me,  and  1  never  was  indalent— but  a  blrange  teeiing 
ot  indifference,  which  prompts  me  to  lie  still  on  my  piilov;^3  and 
look  about  me  dreamily  like  a  liaii-awakened  child. 

The  shadows  creep  round,  followed  by  the  sunshine;  the  peacock 
hops  r!own  and  sialics  away  1  know  not  wliither;  my  dogs  have 
curled  themselves  up  and  gone  to  sleep  in  the  sunshine;  a  bee  comes 
IfOoruiug  aguiiiNt  t lie  glass  and  m way  again;  a  Ilight  of  crows  cross 
the  sky'^in^ue  clistance;  1  hear  Olive's  voice  counting  her  strokes;  1 
k;now  the  glorious  August  afternoon  is  wearing  away;  and  yet  1  do 
not  stir. 

There  has  been  a  hiatus  ol  six  weeks  in  my  life;  and,  now  that  I 
am  gathering  up  the  raveled  threads  of  consciousness  again,  it  is 
with  a  curious  unconcern,  a  want  of  energy,  which  troubles  Olive 
and  Uncle  Tod.  1  have  been  so  near  death's  door  that  it  seems  as  it 
1  scarcely  cared  to  take  the  trouble  to  come  back  iigam — as  if  1  hart 
somehow  got  outside  the  worid's  attraction,  and  were  floating  apart 
in  some  drec.rn.;'  mid-region  out  of  the  reach  ot  their  sympathies.  1 
feel  as  ii  I  v\  "1  nor,  bring  myself  to  care  for  anything,  to  feel  an 
interest  in  \  to  care  to  reuse  myself  out  of  the  stupor  of 

languid  inc.  -  into  which  1  have  fallen  since  that  six  weeks' 

fever  out  oi  w  r;  in  they  thought  1  would  never  have  come  alive. 

Thesunli^iii  UiO-eson — dies  od  the  terrace — glides  to  the  top  of 
my  bosky  w  uod.  Tiie  colors  of  the  flowers  in  the  garden  arc  not  so 
rich  now  as  ii  e  coat-of-arms  let  into  the  upper  part  of  the  deep  bay- 
window  in  CO i  Ted  glasrj — the  stag's  head  above  the  shield  with  its 
dc&cron  char  li  three  Jleurs-deAys,  over  all  the  bloody  hand  to 

which  1,  as  ..  .m  have  no  right.     The  person  who  has  a  right 

to  it  is  here,  u.  v/oodhay.  1  wonder  vaguely  if  he  ever  thinks  of 
measaui^ur;  :?  if  1  had  never  been  born  VYoodhay  would  have 
belonged  to  . 

1  study  v\\  al  bearings  wdlli  the  same  vagne  curiosity  with 

vshlchT  iiaie  sipJiadthe  garden— as  if  it  had  not  been  familiar  to 
m<3  ali-m}''  hie.  From  the  stained  glass  my  eyes  wander  to  the  heavy 
curtains  of  crlrnson  velvet,  to  the  panelled  wall,  to  the  oil-paintiug 
above  the  pnzicilng — a  chorus  ot  radiantly-beautltul  cherub  heads, 
\rhose  rosy  ciu;c'ks  fire  only  a  shade  less  rosy  than  the  heaven  which 
forms  their  b'^/ii-ground.    I  am  studying  this  last  as  if  it  too  wore  an 
uniamiliar  ^b;ng,  when  the  rustle  of  a  newspaper  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room  iu'racia  my  attention.    I  move  my  head  h<nguidly,  turn- 
ing down  the  corner  of  the  piPow  with  my  hand.     Ronald  Wcott  is 
Bitting  in  the  great  red  velvet  chair  by  the  window,  reading.    1  have 
made  no  sound  in  turning  my  head,  and  he  does  not  'look  i*ound. 
And  cfiimly  and  gravel}'  1  study  him,  as  1  have  studied  •■he  other  ob 
jccts  in  the  room  and  out  ot  it,  with  cold,  ur:^'"^'"' •^<"'^  '^'"lost  m» 
diiTerent  eyes 

1  know  hio  face  very  well.     He  was  at  *'  1  first 


FOK    LIi?E    AKD    I4>VE. 


]  him  bel'ore.   UiKJe  'i'od  bra. 

. j"a,  ;md  bad  taken  a  faucy  Id 

;  Had  com;*  l)a('k  to  Eng'land  lor  a  year's  !  i  lo 

vit«  him  dovvu  to  the  vicamg'e,  pi-omishiu  x., 
•ny  of  my  grouse  and  \voo«icock  —and  I  > 

'   —0.6  he  chose  to  i>        '    'i.     Ho  had  r  >  n  i.i:  i 

!  to  meud — the  !.:  i  luui  been  ■  1.  fell  H) 

and  iie  does  ijot  seem  to  hnd  iile  at  YM'. 
:  liave  gi>)v\u  tired  ot  shooting  over  ir. . 
bi'O'.vn  brook  to  pay  us  a  visit  hc?re  at  ^k-  >  i  imv. 

come  for  cbauge  ot  air  with  Oiive,  Aunt  TI<  ime  iiU' 

rtially  between  the  two  houses,  but  being  u  a  visit 

,  i'h  me. 

Studying  his  face  thus  at  my  leisure,  1  try  to.fanry  what  1  wotUd 
■^  fnk  ot  Ronald  Scott  if  1  had  never  seen  him  1       -       it  is  a  p'  iii 
;e,  thin  and  brown,  \Tilh  a  droopinp;  brown  ;e— a  ui    . 

0  who  has  conquered  in  thr'fi-..'.    LocIeTod 

1  of  hie  comine;  no-nie  on  leavf,  ty^t  T^ln•^ld  F. 
ts  a  hur(I-v>orlving  lellovr,  and  would  soon  ' 

0,     1  remember  quite  well  hearing  of  his  go:: 

ly  little  interest  and  no  c^tpiial,  nejir].y  twelve 

inv    '.".  it  would  be  to  him  to  get  his  foot  eve„    ,.   ... ,.  .  . \    ., 

ier.     Even  then  1  had  wonderetl.if  he  wlsbod  there  wer« 

'  ouvn  I-.  rson  in  ex!st.en(  e  as  tiie  lutle  wild  r'"^  -^^  '  ■•^<'  -M-n  A'^icair- 

0.     It  seemed  hard  that  he  should  have  i  but  tiie 

\pty  title — someiinieal  v.'i^lied  my  father  \\\.x.  vav  'xx\  w  o     ' 

.',  but  to  him.     jj'it  Woodlinywas  not  eutaii<^-d,  ?md  n. 

cared  for  no  one  but  me.     Nevertheless,  as  ;  1  had  (>;i<  a 

Ihonght  of  my  cousin,  Sir  RontUd  Scott — woudt  .ihcwas  like 

even  made  up  my  mind  to  many  him  some  uav,  ;ind  so  repair 

jury  I  had  unconsciousl)'-  done  him.     Now,  as  1  iie  among  my 

ivet  cushions  soberly  regarding  him,  1  bethinli  U7e  of  X)m&  resolu- 

n  I  have  come  to  lately,  of  leaving  Woodhay  to  him  whttn  1  die. 

s  yearly  income  in  India  promisee  soon  to  be  equal  to  my  own; 

;t  that  makes  no  difference.     Woodhay  ought  to  go  w^ith.the  ScoU 

'.e,  as  it  has  gone  for  the  last  lour  or  live  Hundred  years.     Thj^ 
n::  '.oaaiuTi?  '  fills  me  with  no  sorrow  for  mvr 

li  ■  my  en  iidyine*  his  worn  profile   as   it 

.iiii«t  the  sun  indow  bev"ond, 

■'  You  are  n .                                   .e  ocri^lt  mtiuence  has  drawn  hi8 
jook  toward  me,  or  perhrt{)8  the  i  a  of  my  own  steadfast 

raze.     He  throws  down  the  HewBp::^.-  iconics  s.crnss  the  room. 

i  hope  you  feel  rested,  cousin Y" 

"  Oh,  yes,  thanks!    Have  1  been  long  asleep t 

'*  1  do  cot  know — you  were  asleep  wliea  1  cnrae  in  half  an  hour 
"■o — at  leas*^,  I  suppose  po,  lor  you  were  so  qui»t  tl;  '  ^  ■  —  -  '       v 

u  were   in  th;2  room  tDl  Miss  Dcane  came  to  tlie 
r  not  to  "U." 

vou  wev  ,  tennis?" 

"1  ing;  bat  1  vv anted  to  read  that  article  about  Indian 

affahij  ;V's  '  TiniQa.' " 


54:  FOR    LI-FB    AKI)    LC- ". 

"  Has  Olive  finished  lier  gauie  ytA?" 

"  Kot  yet,  1  tliiiik." 

1  glance  at  Uie  Uible  wliere  Digges  lias  just  deposited  our  atler- 
noon  tea-tray. 

"  1  wish  siie  would  coine  in  and  give  us  some  tea." 

"  Sliall  I  go  for  her?'; 

*'  Oh,  DO;"slie  will  come  when  she  is  reardy?" 

"  You  ■will  feel  lonely  without  your  friend,"  he  says,  as  Olive's 
merry  laugii  coiiies  in  through  the  open  window.  Olive  is  going 
away  to-morrow ;  EUiuor  is  not  strong,  and  wants  lier  at  home, 

"  Yes,"  1  answer,  tears  coming  into  my  eyes — I  must  be  weal; 
yet,  or  1  should  not  cry  so  readily.  "  They  have  written  tor  her;  1 
shall  mi&s  her  very  much." 

"  You  aie  going  away  yourself  very  soon,  are  you  not?" 

"  TJjey  want  me  to  go  to  Monte  Carlo;  but  1  don't  aire  about 
it." 

"  Yet  1  am  afraid  you  will  find  this  place  dull  in  winter." 

"  1  never  foumi  \Voodhay  dull,"  I  answer,  looking  out  of  the 
window.  "  1  never,  lived  here,  to  be  sure — that  1  cun  remember;  bat 
tJien,  even  as  a  cliil:!,  1  was  constantly  coming  aiid  going,  and  1 
loved  it  better  than  any  other  place  in  the  world. " 

"  It  is  a  line  old  place."  he  says,  following  my  look;  **anv  one 
might  well  be  fond  ot  it." 

r.u'laace  at  hi«  face;  but  it  is  perfectly  unconscious — en;.,.  ..  i.vv. 
from  haired,  envy,  or^'any  unchtuitableness.  He  speaks  of  Wood- 
hay  just  as  he  might  oi  any  of  the  neighborin  •  ^  '  ; — the  Towers 
ot  Dunsandle. 

"1  think  one  alvrays  cares  for  one's  own  property;  very  few  peo- 
ple hale  the  place  xvliere  they  were  born." 

*' Very  tew,"  he  agrees  re&dily.  "  JSo  matter  how  well  people 
get  on  m  India  or  the  colonies,  they  always  intend  sooner  or  latei,  to 
'go  home.'  Kot  one  man  in  a  hundred  would  be  satisfied, to  die  iu 
a  foreign  country, " 

"  jSIot  even  a  Ciiinaman!"  1  laugh. 

"  Kot  even  a  Chmamau  or  a  coolie  who  has  lost  ca'^ie.     But  th'^- 
never  do  go  hoUiC;  if  a  Ghmaaian  by  any  diance  loses  his  pig-ta 
he  never  goes  borne  again."' 

"  Docbu't  he?''  1-  say,  with  mnch  interest. 

I  have  risen  frojn  my  sofa,  and  am  standing  in  the  window,  my 
hands  cj.i^vr'rl  Mt  the  back  of  my  neck,  my  eye.;  on  ihc  distant  blue 
hill  mei'  y  into  the  bluer  sky.     Konaitl  is  sian.iiDg  in  t; 

vrindow  e,  his  hands  in  the  pockeis  of  lii^  vvo.y  tv.\. ,!  co;: 

"  '.  /mething  were  going  to  hajv 

\\y.  "  ^  ..;..,,  ."-ify  It  was  a  thunderstorm,  i 
so  mn6li  more  like  wind.  Have  you  ever  i 
ilonald?' 

"  Not  mean,"  he  answ 

"  Have  yo;i  ii'^/cr  feit  that  something  v,;:'^  -^'iiig  lo  i'.;i;;;;  ir;" 

"Often.     But  it  was  not  from  any  preTuonitorv  mentji!  depr< 
sion." 

"  Low  are  siirn  > 

Don't  you  kuov/  wkaJJShakesijeare  says — ',  .;  mea  , 

v; ere  ever  meriy  *  "    '' 


..iJa-j    A  55 

"  iS- i    wirrii    oivi    wmnrit    Icli    Cllild'ru    iin-j,    \\::i    mjd.u   t'l  j  ,   innUU88 

they  are  IfUijzhinir  so  iiuich!"  lu;  adds,  shrug^^ing  liis  shoukleis. 

"  Tlii;l  is  anoUKT  ca-se  in  point." 

"  1  don't  tl'iflk  you  i»re  mwry  enotigh  now  to  dread  any  mtefor- 
tun.';  !  0!»  tho  skirls  of  your  merriment?" 

1    '.  hini,  displeiicM'd.*    This  brown  eyed  cousin  of  mine 

!it  me,  tijitl  1  do  not  like  it. 
.  on  will  believe  me  when  we  hear  some  bad  news  perhaps!" 

*'  1  thought  we  were  to  have  ridden  to  day,  Rosalie.  A  gallop 
,u.ro9S  the  moors  would  do  away  with  a  «n  ■'  '■'•■'•'■  <-^  .'^..r  pievis- 
ions." 

"  1  teit  so  tired,  1  did  not  care  to  ri(ie." 

I  look  o\}\  into  the  g:irden  again  indifferently.  I  wonder  what 
RonaM  hinks  ot  me?     1  know  mv  want  of  inteietst  in  every- 

thing i  •in  a  little— he  cannot  imagine  why  1  <lo  not  take  any 

pleanurt;  in  my  woods,  my  meadows,  my  hor^«ef;,  my  dogs,  and  my 
beautiful  old  liouse.  Cerlainlv  1  have  been  ill,  but  1  am  well  now — 
f*o  well  that  1  have  been  on  horseback  several  times,  and  have  driven 
^'lireand  mysolt  all  abo'U  Vattenden  in  my  basket-phaeton.     But 

Mple  fcsa.y  my  illness  has  changed  me  very  mi-icii;  mv  face  looks 
imggard,  there  are  dark  shadows  under  my  eyes.  Nobody  knows 
what  1  suffer:  through  all  my  wandenng-s  i  have  never  mentioned 
Gerard  B.  -  *  :me.  1  am  surprised  that  1  did  not,  lie  is  ne^er 
out  of  my  ^.  1  have  nevei  heard  of  him  since  that  day  when 

we  said  go.  u  :iy  to  each  otjjer  in  my  leafy  combe— not  one  single 
word!  1  (io  not  know  wiiether  he  is  dead  or  alive— Olive  docs  not 
know.  Sii^' iias  never  s])oken  of  him  since  that  morning  jshe  told 
Tue  all  sl»e  k:ew  about  him  a*s  we  came  through  my  wood.  1  do  not 

nk  slie  pu'^pects  anything— she  never  tliought  J  cared  for  him; 
.^at,  if  she  ^  •  i<-"'i  -uiytliiiig  about  liiin,  si  i'  »'•>"''  '  ■  ^- ■  !""■"  sure 
to  tell  mr. 

Ronal  1       ':    ii:i^  iH-en  Tfiygood  to  me  in  ;i  nroinfiiy  iviim  oi  way 

— lit,  ""'^  Oiivf  fri'at  me  vcr}'  much  like  a  spoiled  child  — sometimes  I 

nything  but  an  agreeable  kiiul  ot  per.>^on.     1 

1  for  anybo<ly  himself — if  he  cares  for  any- 

,ii  be  impose  i hi u  to  tt  :^  U-om  that  grave  stern  face 

is  a  man  who  would  haVb/- 

.  one  to  face  the  world  T/:'"' 
!'  t'>  ^iiow  c  """^tuan  when  he  iov 

"  1  a.sk  suddeniv,  wit"!     '  /  ueudj 

•art  in  En  iliind?'* 


•  U)  have  you  km/. 
':  -.e?" 

1  in  your  eye  for  mc?" 

i  i.r.c  back  for  a  w>' 

\  >'e  so?" 

1\    IO     lOO'.s.    ' 

yiswroup  j  ^.       concerned." 


56  FOE    LIFE    AXD    LOYE. 

use  yon  know  -wLeie  lo  find  her?'^' 

ViSe  I  did  not  come  iiome  on  any  ev.  t.  Cousin  Ro- 

salie." 

"Upoii,^...  .vord?" 

"  UpoQ  my  honor!"  he  laugbs,  looking  around  at  me.  "Why, 
cousin,  I  never  tiioaglit  you  had  a  tain  for  maichmakinKl" 

"  1  never  tiiougbt  so  eiiher.  Bui  1  knov7  plenty  ot  nice  girls— 
Ellinor  Dearie  uuvi  Ada  Kolleston  and  Katie." 

"  "Why  do  you  leave  out  your  own  particular  iricnO ' 

"  Do  you  liivt'  Olive?"  1  usk  quk:kly,  glancing  liim. 

*'  Or  do  you  like  her  too  well  to  wish  to  see  he  .  to  me?" 

"  1  think  you  are  too  late  to  try  tor  Oiiv  /,  shaking  my 

^ead. 

"  \ou  would  not  advise  me  to  enter  the  lists  against  Lockhart?" 

he  asks,  su?j!iug. 

"  Yv'ell,  1  think  Olive  likes  him — a  little.  But  she  is  such  a  mad- 
cap— what  «he  jikes  one  day  ?he  hates  the  next." 

"  Then,  if  she  likes  Loclihart  to-d^y,  there  may  be  some  chance 
for  me  lo-morrovv." 

"1  sli-:^'   ^   '  '  e  you  and  Olive  to  care  lor  t    n  uu;vr/'  1  say 

dreamily  -Lie  her  better  than  any  other  giil  in  the  world." 

"  Then  YCHi  must  like  me  a  little,  to  wis!)  to  bestow  her  upon  me  " 
"  1  like  yon  very  mv.i'.h,  cougin,  Tou  have  beeu  very  kind  to  me 
•' Ra&;  well  enough  to  at  becomes  of 

me?" 

"  How  can  you  a^k  siich  a  foolish  question;" 

"  As  you  said  just  now — because  1  Avant  to  know." 

"  Of  course  I  care.     Vou  are  the  fonly  cousin  I  have— it  is  not  a& 

ir  1  had  half  a  dozen,  or  half  score,  like  most  people." 

"  And  you  care  for  me  with  all  the  caring  that  you  might  have 

divided  among  hyif  a  dozen,  or,  perhaps,  half  a  scoic?" 
1  do  not  answer. 

"  Rosalie.  I  did  not  come  back  to  England  to  look  for  a  sweet- 
heart—or^ wife.  But-do  you  think  you  could  (^rcr  care  enough  tor 
me — at  any  future  time — to  give  me  both?' 

1  turn  my  head  now  to  look  at  him.  His  r,,.,^  ,yes  meet  mine 
unwaveringly;  his  head  is  a  little  bent  as  he  looks  intently  into  my 
face. 

•*  1^0,"  I  answer,  in  the  same  srrave  matter-of-fact  tone  in  whicii 
he  has  spoken,  without  any  change  of  color  or  added  pulsation  of 
the  heart.  "  1  shall  never  care  for  any  one,  Ronald — 1  do  not  intend 
to  marry  any  one.  This  j>lace  ought  to  have  been  yours — at  m}^ 
death,  it  will  belong  to  you." 

"At  your  death!"  he  repeats,  with  a  shocked  look.  "Why, 
child,  1  am  ever  so  many  years  older  than  you  are!" 

"  Only  ten.  And,  when  onje  does  not  care  lo  live,  it  makes  a  great 
diilerence — " 

"  But  you  care  to  IWai    It  is  only  some  mcrbfd  fnncy  jom 
tak(«i  into  youi' hx-ad—people  often  take   f.  '  into  luc 

hcuf-B  when  iIk-t  uav<;  boi;:n  illi." 


it,  T 

see  how  iiitlc  iiie  ih  vroiLh  iivhj;^'-] 


Til  is  is  no  l;incy  of  JTiaie-r-flx*  stiouger  1  i  cem  to 


1       ■  :  •  \ 

11 ;   s.  V 

iii-eiJii' 

i  to 

i<:d  la 

•ftn-1   I 

LOVE.  57 

so  much  to  live  fo:  ive  everTTtJiingjour 

nf  answer  hi  j;Tcat  peorlv 

's  are  bJowiy  tui'iiliig  liuiu  silver  to  gold 

.n. 

.1  lei  iiic  try  to  make  j'du  happy?    Will  yon  try 

ii:?    1  love  ybi] — 1  have  loved  you  slnco  the  first 

mcnt  A  I-  face.      Don't   you  think  1  could  make  you. 

"•■    '^  ■        .-.  ..0  much  iia  that?" 

;  it  ior  a  moment.    1  do  not  seriously  entertain  th6 
1.  lOr  oue  second  of  time,     A  yeur  o<;o"  it  miy,ht  have 
tue  a  very  desirable    arraugemt-nt      It    would   ret;tore 
'  >  man  who  1  uiways  felt  ought  to  liave  had  it.     But 
•  rot  cfiFe  for  any  oce  else.     Kow  my  heart  lies  hur- 
.  dug  lor  it-  down  among  lj»e  tangled  ferns 
s  m  my  shadowy  combe  one  day— a  grave 
iiHve  never  vibit-ed — a  grave  where  with  my  dead 
il  hope,  all  pleasure,  all  desire  of  iiie. 
ou  reafly  care  for  me,  Cousin  Ronald.     I  don't 
'..  .4w..  " — smiling  slightly — "hi:':  ••••.i.- ■  . -j-r..- 7  .,..,i» 

■'  Iday  I  ;  (iue  question,  Rosalie  ?  ' 

'  '•■■-•  xiiou  U  before  1  Ioo'k  jouim  in'o  uih  i;.,    . 

.\']y;  "  1  .suppose  you  havu  a  right  to  a:-k." 
ic  il  by  reason  of  any  right,  and  yoa  are  not 

•  1  to  answer  you." 

vVfir  L;riC!c(i  that  vor.  CLired  for  anv  q!1  cr 


jusL  as  gravely,  just  as  composedly,  looking 
0  smooth  gray  lerrace^-walk. 
'^Lu   Rouald!     1  have  cared  for  another  man 
,  ou  uuiy  he  a  huiul.  '     rer,  atliou- 

u  can  never  be  to  m-  ..:e  was," 

>sk  you  his  u;,me.    EuL  Lhio  iiiun,  Rosalie,  it 
\'cc\  you  in  l^*Ulnl?*' 


li  a  stiange  little  smile;    '  he  is  married." 
aid  Scoll  sliujds  1^- •  *■•  -^^  '■■  '•  •  •'    ■i-"-.    1 
'-  1  caai  fancy  tl-  st. 


vs  a!   labt— iuid  his  loii.  pitiful,  not 

child!" 
md  I  do  no: 

.to  rriv  fVes 


vi  ihiit  qiicbtion  il  i  iiaci  i,d  your 


58  FOB    LIFE    AXD    LOVE. 

lurning  my  head.    The  loolish  tears  drop  dc  ud  fall 

upon  the  i»ovvu  whose  d«.-ad  violet  shade  Oliv: 

"  1  sLall  be  your  IritiKl  always,  Rosalki— i'.  . 

"  Yc',"'  ^  ^'ixy  vaguely,  not.  dreamiug  how  soon  :o  trial 

of  Ills  friciidship;  *'  I  shall  lerueraber." 

He  sloops  and  k!sse»  my  hand  gravely,  di?pass!;  >.  ■ 

out  of  tl-f '•■  •  ;■  •  '  *■'". ''  '"".  Lockhar'  -• 

-.i-  .  -/f  >' 

"  There  i?  no  nevrs  in  the  paper  to-day,"  Oltv  ng  up 

the  "  Times  "  i'Tom  the  fl(x>r  where  llouald  Scott  it. 

"  Is  there  no!  V"  I  answer  languidly,  still  standii  .p  bay 

window  iookiiio;  out. 

"  Kotliing  that  I  call  news.     Oh;  ^vhat  is  thi??" 

She  does  "not,  spe.ik  again  for  a  minute  or  two.     '  -  she  is 

studying  the  parygrnph  "which  seeiaed  to  have  t:  atten- 

tion.    I    am    studying  the   sunset    colors    in    the    .  mys- 

tic glory  of  my  snuset  hill,  the  deep  ruddy  gretn  r  ulowy 

wboiis."  Mr.   Lockhart  has   just  wished  us  gdo  .'t  the 

room;  Digges  has  carried  away  the  tca-thiug-s;  O  ;  •  than 

once  suggested  that  i!  is  time  for  my  ante-prandia: 
in  no  mood  for  (■"'■' '^•-  ^' ;  ^'   ■  "^^fiu  lo  the  v'  'o  ^'^ 

my  hal. 

*' Such  ahorrib'e  Uiiiig.      vj:ive  exclaims.     "  i.  '.«^— 

that  unfoituuale  Gerard liaxter  was  married?'* 

"  Yes,"  I  anf^wer  calmly,  without  turning  my  hej.a 
some  time  ago." 

"  1  declare  I  don't  like  to  tell  you  about  it— it  i  ■ 
you  it  you  had  never  kuovvu  the  w^relched  boy." 

*  What  is  it?"  1  ask,  confronting  her.     The  gr 
coiner  of  the  sofa,  looking  up  at  me  with  a  wiiile  .  j. 

■    '*  VThy  he  was  a  nested  the  day  before  yestertl  charge  ©1, 

;•/■"'-• '■''-'■d  his  wifel" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Olive  Deahe  wfjnt  away  this  morning,  and  " 
alter  luncheon— the  house  seems  quite  lon'ely  an.: 
.on  not  thinking  ot  either  my  friend  or  my  cous^i!  • 

my  brown-iwmelod  morning-room  at  Woodhay,  he  ivdiui 

the  "Times  ■' ot  yesterday.     1  had  hidden 'the  :lmt  1 

might  study  somi^thing  in  it  tit  my  leisure  to-day—  >■ 

1  heady  kiiow  by  heart.     As  1  sit  in  the  deep  old- i 
rio^',  \vith  the  paper  in  my  hand,  my  eyes  are  on 
without,  intenily  staring.     1  see  no  sunny  ganien 
by  tall  green  hedges  topped  by  the  blue  sky. 
prison-c^il — gauut.haggard — the  man  whom  1  st;]  ,.  ali  ii.^ 

reckless  obstmMcy  of  my  oature  —tho  boy  whose  ..  ot  pur- 

pose has  spoiietl  both  his  lite  and  my  o^vii. 

1  believe  every  wo;d  of  the  story  Jie  told  to  the 
wliom  Uicy  took  him,  though,  in  the  Ir 
cviiii'r!"e  >i^  wtc^  n!'niiuced  airsinsi  him,  1  i 
any  :\ui  Juaosia-atc  bat  t' 


;  OR    LIFS    JL^D    LOV'J. 

cora7^i:ft1n?' htn' fcMfeon  to  take  his  trial  at  the  Or:tf  .cj3 

for 

; nation  before  the  ?:!:!:"!  '  -Wrrt  in 

full  in  tne  pni>f r  in  my  haod,  ijndfT  the  he. 
.w>M.-,.  "  7  1,      •  II  .•isi'tjred  every  parlkriilar  o! 
M  my  owu  mimi.     But,  ( 
:.vi.ii«  >.;•   H-  1.  w  i^ui   home  to  the  wretchevl  .a.   ..:  .   ; 

trial  in  OcioiKr,  1  »m  ua  entirely  convinced  that  he  i  or 

part  in  it  :is  i  :iu»  i'       '  '     !  no  liaml  or  part  in  i' 

Tliive  .'.(■;■:. ^   if  (Ihv  Gerard  Baxter  ihe 

charge  o[   ;  itli  his  wife — or  1  o£ 

July— lii'^  V  White,  deposed  :  *o 

hisloii'.'cu^  '\.'  v;\;!.  litT  dauiTliler.  The  prisoni'T  op. 
her,  ami  \oU'  hr/:  that  her  daughter  had  L'on?  o 
hour  brfose   U  buy  something  in  a  neigi/  d 

go""  1"  '^  '  ^'  '  '.-..'ii-  <.,f;.fi,.(t,  and  tully  in  >   n 

Ih  jess  of  her  own  ] 

anu,  •,\  ij'-r  .,c;  i'M».':ii(-ii  ufi  visit  on  the  follow  mi.  .. 
ratiier  gpr^r^scd  to  hejjr  from  her  sou-jn  hiw  that  h 
again  ;^nn',  out.     On  neither  occasion  hnd  be  '• 
room   Oi',(  hud  stood  in  the  duorway  to  answer  ii 
her  dijghter  v  t;';  quite  well,  and  that  he  e:;: 
minu'e;  but  he  did  not  ask  her  lo  wait;  nor  iv 
■wailing  for  her.     g^he  thought  Gerard  J3a.\ 

nnd  surly;  l>  -   Hi/ n  he  never  had  a  very  \ 

de  no  1  upon  her,     Siie  was  so  >;  ^ 

Lciling  her  .uc  .iUih  on  both  ocxiasions  that  s 
malting  Hny  inquiries  among  the  neigbbor?.     In 
istrale,  she  Haid  the  lodgings  were  very  poor  o; 
was  nu  nrtist,  anrl  could  not  always  sell  Jiis  i 
m    ■      '  ■  ''   ■    ■  .i:jy 

h. 

id  not  ( 
,;h;er  for 
had  been  in  ihc  lubii  or  running  into  lier  house  e 
iii,wf  -viw..  1,...  1.  .-I- n-t  went  out.     Tbey  had  ^^rvf 

r  was  a  child  aliuost,  ,'i 
iii;:i  '^  ,1'   ,\.'.^  foured  by  disappoin'- ' 

had  I  n  to  drtnk*-nol  hard.  »)ut  n- 

him  -,  ii  '    !ie  .  1  to  his  ' 

go  li>  , 

verv  r  » 

in-                              s  to  loo  -lU, 

I"'                               »  ''<"•  •'!'•        ..  ... ,..  ,  'om 

a  worn  ot 

I-  .in  in  t!ie  um  r  — 

Irs.  HaHiT  s:iiil  t  :  to 

♦bom  :i!l   - 

ley  had  ;  .  au^ihiag  o.  ;Uc 


Ij  FOIl     LIFE    AXD    LC  TE. 

i':Yf':'v-\oc  ,'hUe  herself  had  seen  tier  on  tlie 

lure.  -Wliile  liien  resolved  to  wait  tilV  her  sou  in-law  sfhoul<i  come 
:tj.  ■,,,*   'f  .nigh  siie  S!it  wLih  ilrs.  Htuig  for  more  than  two  hoiir- 
hJa  ;3i  aiake  bL«  dppeanmce.     Meanwhile  Mr.-J,   Riiag  t' 

her  ;*!■  oi;-   /.new — now  tor  ihroe  days  JhJaster  liocl  told  lhr;:"ii,  wbru 
they  luquU'ea  Uk  bis  v^ite,  that  the  had  just  o;one.ou<  (lud  \vo«ld  be 
in  preSbxiOy,  r.rui  on  the  iourlh  had  told  ijer— Mrs.  Ihiiv^ — tt.}tt  «ha 
had  gone  U;  vi  :'.  Kome  cousins  in  the  eoaniry.     The  flei^'hbors  fus* 
peeled  QOihing-,  Wiien  the3'  asked  for  lier  later  on,  he  said  tie  had  h  d 
ieitcrs  troni  kt-i".  Hu.ievfn  gave  them  messages  wijlch  die  sent  io  ihem 
in  the  Je  ';:.s.  He  iooiced  dark,  Mrs.  Huagsaid:  but  then  he  aJw:. 
did  iooli  'htrk,  iind  kept  kiniseli  very  much  to  him.sel*.    Slie  aid  i 
think  i'ucy  nr:d  go:  on  very  ^ell  of  kite.    He  left  his  wire  rsone  vt 
mw::-    :•■       li^y^Kil  pilied  her — she  v/ us  so  young — a  mere  cbild, ;; 
£sn   :  Un  iiit;  morning  of  ^hc.  tweuty-.'^eeond.  ihey  hud  h 

•^'01  ;-  c  •.  ._  s<  iL.;;;iimg;  she— r»Ir.s.  Haag  — heatd  hiui  fLreuten  to  - 
h:ajst:I'  I  •  :;-:•— :o  c-iioke  her,  she  thouj^ut  he  said:  bnt  such  tkvi- 
were  Ciiitiiii.  h  in  that  ttneoieui-house- 

them  a  "f-'r:  id. 

Jwi.'j.   ■,  J,'  Baxter  did  not  come  baeii,  left  ." 

and  w'vi  ,  -j  knew  Lily — her  daughter's  name  w  .     

tyt^dalii  own.  b-;i  ahe  always  calJed  herpeii' Lily— hud  so' 

co:''.^'-  uJ,  (bough  she  \Ta8  surpr.sei  to  hear  fh-  ' 

gL-  .iiit,  it  was  not  outside  llie  boiuids  of  pi 

i  .'  ,u  hvive  done  so.     And,  beina-  troubled  wiu. 

o .. ;  ie  gave  no  ?nore  thought  to  the  matter  until  t 

ai'ie;::o::';  .:  ;eeutli  of  August. 

Hf.'^    :'e  as  so  overcome  b}'  grief  (hv  .-^ome  tir 

b^j!  '  ux  eovdd  proceed. 

ii.  of  the  iourti^enth  of 

to  Ijc:-,  :■)  .  v  to  tue  mottuary,  A  body  Had  !  .-a  iioaii:. 

in  li  :"''.cklriars  Bridge;  Mr.  Uawg  h.  . ^..:iie;)  ?;>  ^ 

i;.  ;  iuized  it  a«  the  bodyoi^rs.  l^axJer,  ;r 

giii'b  i,,  ..I.  •:    :";ir  to  identify  it,  :■■   '"- ^      '-■■   '  -•■ 

be  foun;:], 

Mrs.  ■'':  ;'9  (iiftlcuUyin  idcntiiyng  ic;' '.•'•!y,  iiin 

had  beci'  i-  a  considerable  tim^-thrcd  xve»  i<.s,  the  &! 

wbo  ;.,;::-;  u.e /Wcr^-WY/y.'e'w,  exuniination.     The  i'yiX' v^a.^  uiu 
'•«7!"'d  /:'•;••   Ihe  action  o.!  tbe  water;  but  the  beautiful  rod  gf 
ei!  tm'ih,  the  girl's  height  and  ago,  tiie  wc 
•   •  -  ,       re  all  couclusive  evideiK^e.  ■  il'.r  roMije.-; 

»nr..i  ii,  ,.  ;  o         ..  upon  ihe.m — a  black  cashm- 

aad  a  lis  lie  biwruii  v\dth  hair  in  it,  -which  Jlr^ w... ,,.  c.  ... 

nized  as  having  been  a  present  from  herselt  to  her  daughter — si 
had  put  ''  •  '  ••  ■  ••oil  herself — it  was  btr  father's  hair."  Mr.  ai: 
^■Ifp.  Hi;  uleniitred  the  eIo(hes,  but  could  not  rememb 

the  broi;  .  iinacr,  being  called  up,  cor  ro  bo  Mi  ted  Jslrs.  vVhih' 

evhh}V(\'  :y  particular.     The  pri(\oner  oi)Siinalejy  refused  ; 

ions  put  to  him  by  the  bencii,  and  in:unta?ned  :. 
.-"'  asuHen  demeanor,  v.hicii  had  ('jt:'  ■!•:('rab^v  pi~ 
au'C^iti  ii  iist  hiui.  .  ■ 

fto  nv  .1.  aladnui?'  every  word— I  !! 


FOR    UVR    AND    L®VE.  61 

tave  bnTDed  themselves  into  my  brain.  There  ^ere  no  marks  of  rio- 

on  the  body,  so  far  as  could  be  r  d;  but, 

it  w;ls  ia  wiien  found.  Ibis  could  .'  be  sat,  ^ 

■d.     It  was  supposed  that  Baxter  had  pushed  hie  wif«  int<rthe 

.,,-,..  ii..  M;,.ivt  of  the  twenty-second  ot  July — the  day  Mrs.  Haag 

lad  rerHening  lo  lake  away  her  life. 

1  b.jiivf  ut  liid  Baxter  to  be  innocect  ot  the  crinr-  • '^od  to 

lim,     1  have  not  asked  Ronald  Scott  his  opinion,  nor  ckI — 1 

'Vfielf  to  ask  {hern  any  questions.     Bui  i  Uua  heard 

Tod  at  break  last  wnat  they  wouM  do  to  Gerard 

L'uclo  Tod  SHJd  they  would  try  bim,  f,'  \r 

y,  and  condemn  him  to  death.    Theguiii  L 

eiy  brought  to  him — whether  he  would  bo  ri-c  1 

ny  MOt,  he  could  not  say.    It  might  come  out  that   ....  ...d 

rmg  circumstances;  but,  lo  Uncle  Tod's  mind,  these 
ii^j  c^iuaualing  circumstance^     t*  "^as  a  horrible  busineae  r  '''- 
r. 
i!  ■       '      rible  business.    1  think  ho.  jy^  1  sit  starin.T  '  '' 
nnn  .  i,  into  vnich  even  the  echo  of  such  evil  d 

'.     it,  13  all  so  peaceful,  so  orderly — the  blackbirds  ;;n;l  t!;ru^kcs 

'1  n.nd  out  of  (he  tuli  (hick  walls  of  yew  and  beech,  rny  neacock 

^  up  and  do\yn  in  the  di<tance,  faint  y. 

U-' serene  sky.     How  different  it  is  from  li  _    ) 

4reet,  p<trhaps  more  wretched  court  or  alley,  where  the  man  to 

win  I  would  have  as  freely  given  AVoodhay,  with  all  its  gardens 

nd  Terraces,  woods  end  meadows,  has  worked  and  starved  till  it 

sems  that  his  misery  has  driven  him  mad!    1  hate  the  blue  sky,  the 

nlerly  flower  beds,  the  ruddy  gables,  and  carved  window-seitings 

i  mv  ■  old  house.     1  cunnot  bear  to  look  ni  tiiem,  thinking 

ovy'  :;piness  thej'  have  given  me.     If  1  h^d  hron  r^hnt  hB 

;  me,  the  penniless  gu'l  learning  mufjic  as  o 

'd,  I  would  have  married  him,  and  we  n 

■y.      But  1  refused  him,  because  1  was  Miss  bomers  bcott  of 

.  .  udhay  Manor.     And  nww  all  my  woods  and  moors  and  meadows 

ave  turned  to  ashes  betvveen  my  teeth. 


"  Aunt  Rosa,  1  am  going  up  lo  Lonaon. 

**  To  Loudon!"  Aunt  Rosa  repeats-,  staring  at  me  through  her  spec- 
icles,  r.ghast. 

"  Ye*^.    1  am  going  up  on  business." 
*'  But,  my  dear  Rosalie,  you  arc  no  more  fit  to  travel — " 
"  .Mv  .!..  r  Aunt  Rosa,  it  is  just  what  1  want — some  variety.     I 
ave  lied  to  Mrs.  Wauchope  to  have  my  old  rooms  imCarle- 

m  ^  -...  -v.idy  for  me  tomoriow." 
'  You  have  telnijiaphed  to  Mrs.  Wauchope!    Do  you  mean  to  tell 

}«  thnt  you  rfo  going  up  to  those  dreadtul  Jot^  • ".^ain — alone?" 

"NTiiere  e'-c  ^vould  you  have  me  go,  Arot 
Why,  I  thought  you  might  be  going  !     '  ;    *     '"  ;". 

Dns'.' 

Vnmark;  aad  1  uoa  t  wanl  to  catcli 
too- 


I 


C2  FOR    LIFE    AND    LOTE. 

*'  Not  that  1  am  afraid  of  the  fever,"  1  ara  bomid  to  add  hon- 
estly. "I  am  not  in  Ihe  Jeast  a^rakl  of  it;  but  I  preler  going  to 
Carietoa  Street  foi*  a  ^^roiji  many  reasons." 

"if  you  go,  1  sh-Ail  <.':o  with  you,"  Aunt  Rosa,  says  decisively. 

*'"Aud  leave  Uncle  To(l  with  that  cold  on  his  chest?  My  dear  Aunt 
Rojsa,  1  assure  y«a  I  am  very  well  able  to  taiie  cj^re  of  myself." 

**  i'on  \vi!l  take  Xanuette  with  vou,  of  course?" 

'*  Indeed  1  shall  do  no  such  tl^mg,"  1  answer  at  once.  My  nj8W 
maid  is  a  weajiness  to  me.  If  old  nuree  Marjory  had  not  been  pjist 
hei  work,  1  v;ould  n>ver  have  iustailed  her  in  the  lodge  and  hired 
thi3  pert  French  aonbratle  in  her  stead. 

"  Bat,  m}'  dear  child,  it  is  an  unheard-of  thing  for  a  girl  in  your 
posiiioa  to  go  up  to  lodgings  in  London  alone." 

**  Kobody  uetd  know.  And  it  is  not  as  if  Mrs.  Waucliope  were 
cot  an  old  friend;  and  I  ehuli  only  be  gone  a  day  or  two  probably. 
If  anyihicg  should, liappen  to  detain  me  in  town,  you  may  follow^ 
me — if  you  like,  and  if  Uncle  Tod's  cold  is  better.'-' 

Aunt  Kos^a  does  not  like  the  arrangement  from  nny  point  of  view. 

'*  You  are  very  self-wified.  Rosalie.  You  were  always  headstrong, 
since  you  were  a  baby  of  three  years  old.  If  ever  a  girl  wanted  a 
father  or  mother  to  control  her,  I  think  you  wanted  them.  As  for 
onr  Uncle  Todhsmtc^,  if  you  had  cried  for  the  moon,  he  would 
ave  tried  to  get  it  for  you.  1  often  told  him  he  spoiled  a^ou,  and  so 
he  did." 

"  1  thmk  T  was  alwa5'^8  obstinate,  whether  Uncle  Tod  spoiled  me  or 
not.     Aunt  Rosu,  do  you  know  Couvsin  Ronald's  address  in  town?" 

Aunt  Rosa  stares  at  me,  scandalized — this  time  over  the  rim  other 
ep:^c^;i-ies. 

"  "      'If'nr  Rosalii .  .,-     yjxi  going  to  Sir  Romild  Scott's  hotel  in 
all  upon  hiin?" 

"--'-  1  should  want  him,  auntie.     But  it  is  always  well  '  ■ 
-3  of  a  ti"iend  in  London." 

'  "     '       '    oar  uncle  always  goes  to  in  London* 

"  ^v :,   -  .        .   .     uo  auyihiu.i;  unbecoming.     My  dear  Aunt  Rosa. 

I  c.'!!'  '  ;■    ■  "-—when  1  liKe;  and  1  am  sui\j  you  can  trust  to 

tl'L'  ■  friend  Ronald  Scott."  1 

t  is  a  perfect- gehlleman.    What  will  be  thiuk  of 

this  tn.  'iirs,  Rosalie?    Do  you  suppose  he  wiU  approve  of 

V"' ^  ^  M  1  'r<n  alone  like  this?" 

on  of  my  pt  oceedings  is  not  of  yit  Jil  impor 
i  >,  iij, :;,ving  up  my  head.     **  \Yhether  he  is  pleased 

o  .tteis  very  little  to  me.     1  am  iioing  up  to  London 

c:j  .  '        '     ly  else  cotdd  manage  for  nt«'.    If  he  chooser 

i'>  I  11 — should  1  feel  called  upoa  to  make  it— ii 

'^mothing  to  you, "  Aunt  Rosa  says  a  little  wist 
fu!  '  lie  is  a  fins  fellow — a  true  jz:eEtleman;  au( 

1- J  it! — he  ajsked  ^()u^  riu-h^  To  lliunter's  per 

-;  to  yoi.  iu  snubbei 

i..  ,...;  re?t." 

1  answer  gravel v^,  *'  you  cannot  like  Ronal< 

'•■   :  •  '  '     ■'  '    '  "•*'  ■   ■'  r;rlv as  1  could. 


h'Oii    LIFE     Ai>l7     i.\jV1I»  63 

**  Why  must  you  have  said  it  at  all.  child?" 

•*  Because  1  could  not  aire  enough  for  him  to  marry  him,  auntie." 

Aunt  ]los«  sighs.  She  would  be  so  glad  to  hand  me  orer  to  some 
STOod  steady  man  like  Ronald  Scott,  wlio  coujd  kwp  me  in  order, 
would  be  8o  thankful  to  wash  hsr  hands  ot  me  and  my  ta^- 
.  tond  as  she  is  ot  me,  once  Jind  lor  ever. 

"  1  don't  dpspair  but  that  jou  will  come  to  your  sense?  some  day, 
ftud  marry  him,"  she  says,  deliberately,  getting  up  from  the  lunch- 
eon t.abk\  '•  1  think  your  Uncle  Todhunter  would  die  happy  ii  he 
knew  thfit  you  were  married  to  such  a  man  as  Sir  Ronald  ScofcU" 


"  You're  looking  poorly  enough  still,"  Mrs.  Wauchope  says,  re- 
ling  me  by  the   light  of  the  gas  in  her  great  dingy  drawing- 
n.     "  1  don't  know  whether  it's  the  bonnet,  or  what;  trut  you 
look  ten  years  older  than  you  did  when  you  were  up  here  with  me 
in  the  spring." 

3Irs.  ^  auchope  is  truthful,  if  she  is  not  complimentary.     Glanc- 

•'-'  at  myself  in  the  scagreen  depths  ot  the  mirror  over  the  mantel- 

G,  1  am  forced  to  acknowledge  thai  1  do  kH)k  ten  years  older 

Iiirm  when  I  last  saw  m^yselt  reflected  between  the  tall  vases  of  imi- 
tation Bohemian  glass  which  giace  the  mantelshelf.  In  deference  to 
'it  Rosa's  old-fashioned  notions,  and  tor  other  reasons,  I  have  en- 
vorcAl  to  give  myself  as  staid  an  appearance  as  possible,  weanng 
close  black  bonnet  which  Olive  always  said  gnve  me  a  demure 
i,  though  my  diuiples  were  against  me.  And  1  am  wrapped  up 
ny  long  fur  lined  cloak,  and"  have  altogether  the  look  ot  a  rc- 
•table  young  widow,  as  I  say  to  Mrs.  Wauchope,  laughing, 
'e  she  gelB  my  tea  ready  with  her  own  plump  hnnds. 

I' Isn't  tiiis  a  terrible  business  about  poor  Mr.  Baxter?"  she  re- 
marks presently.     "  1  never  got  such  a  turn  m  my  life  as  when  1 
"    '    at  it  in  the  paper.     And  such  a  young  lad  as  he  is  too; 
e  she  was  little  more  than  a  child!" 

I'    i..;  \    .1  think  he  did  it?"  1  ask,  standinu  on  the  rug.    My  land- 
liri'   i'  i      '■'►<1  ;tt  the  table,  with  her  back  toward  me;  she  does  not 
I  can  scarcely  keep  my  voice  steady  while  I 

•  Oil.  everylx»dy  knows  he  did  it!" 
*'  How  ran  they  know?" 
**  Ivi:      ire  wan  no  one  else  to  do  it." 
'*  TiiuL  proves  notliing." 

"Oh,  but  he  was  heard  to  threaten  her!     And  then  thf  6tori««  he 
\nd  I  believe  she  wtv5  a  n"  "       '     "      iiins,  and  too  pretty 
ui  in  life.  Those  pniute:  her,  tor  eret  paint- 

only  the  other  day  1  found  her  photograph 
1  to  the  wfdl." 
tiiriil  ot  Koineihing  very  like  jealousy  of  th«  dead  girl,  whose 
I'M-  i;-i  Ci  :,i:.I  Baxter  had  cared  to  }>in  up  in  his  room,  runa 
Ii  my  heart.  But  what  right  have  1  to  be  jealous 
^-  -     — ..>    ■>  i.  iv  M.il  child  who  had  been  his  wife? 

!ve  3'ou  seen  hlni  since  he  gave  up  painting  here,  Mi's.  "Wau- 
chopc?" 

"  Once  o;  not  more  than  that.     1  heard  ho  wag  married; 


Gi       •  i'Oxl    LIFE    AlsD    LOVE. 

ftnd  1  vfiiB  soriy  to  liear  it,  knowtn^  the  kind  of  person  Lt-  inmi  ilu. 
Tb-ere  was  a  great  deal  of  good  ia  him,  poor  lad;  but  he  was  as  un- 
stable as  waler— he  never  fiuifched  anything.     There  are  upward 
twenty  pictures  upstairs,  not  one  oi"  them  finished.     If  they  v., 
any  uood,  I'd  sell  .them  to  ]>uy  up  his  arreai'S  of  rent;  but  they  it 
nothing  but  useless  lumber." 

*'  I  wish  you  would  let  me  see  them,  Mrs.  Wauchope.  1  shouldn't 
mind  takiui;  somt*  ot  ihem  off  your  hands.  And,  if  I'v.  "R;  xicr  eve:^ 
<;omes  to  claim  them,  you  can  reter  him  to  me." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  see  them.  Miss  AUie.  The  ii:-^u...^j  ..-  j^^t 
he  left  it — I  never  even  let  the  bedroom  since.  You  see  I  had  i 
regard  lor  him,  havin.i;  known  him  so  lon^;  and  1  thought  he  woulc 
come  back  to  me  some  day,  till  1  heard  he  had  married  that  girl." 

After  tea,  Mrs.  Wauchope  takes  me  iii:)etairs,  .  If  the  studio  hac 
had  an  untidy  look  when  1  lii-st  saw  it,  it  looks  like  nothing-  now  bill 
a  gloomy  altic  lull  of  lumber — the  empty  easel  pushed  into  a  corner, 
the  unfinished  can^'ases  covered  with  gray  cobwebs,  every  chair  sum 
table  covered  inch-deep  with  dus<.. 

"  Here  is  the  photograph,"  Mrs.  Wauchope  says,  taking  somethias 
from  the  table,  and  wiping  it  with  her  black  apron.  "  A  pretty  face, 
isn't  it?  I've  known  a  man  to  lose  his  life  for  a  face  that  wasn' 
half  as  pretty  as  that." 

"  But  wluit  had  her  face  to  do  wnlh  it?"  1  ask  vaguely. 

"  Why,  they  say  lie  was  jealous,  you  know.     She  was  a  flig 
little  thing,  and  some  arnst  was  painting  her  picture,  and    Mr. 
Gerard  didn't  like  it.     That  was  what  they  were  quarreling  about 
on  the  morning  of  the  day  it  happened." 

1  stand  in  the  light  of  Mrs.  Wauchope's  mold  candle,  looking  au 
tho  photograph  in  my  hand.  It  is  a  beautiful  lace — an  exquisite 
face — soft  and  bright  and  innocent  as  a  child's. 

"  I  will  keep  this  for  the  present,  Mrs.  Wauchope.    May  1?** 

Mrs.  Wauchope  nods.  Lily  Baxter's  photograph  is  in  all  the  shop- 
windows;  but  she  does  not  care  to  have  it  at  all.  i 


CHAPTER  X. 

Eajrly  tiic  next  morning  1  transgress  all  Aunt  Rosa's  rules  ot ; 
propriety  by  taking  a  cab  and  driving  to  my  Cousin  Ronald  e*cott'si 
hotel.  1  find  him  fini?hing  breakfast,  hall  a  dozen  business-letters | 
scattered  al)Out  the  table. 

"  Ronald,"  1  say,  in  my  honest  fearless  way,  "  1  have  come  to 
put  a  promise  you  made  me  to  the  test. ' ' 

"1  am  dad  to  hear  it,  Rosalie,"  he  answers,  standing  by  the 
table,  ' '  1  have  refused  the  chair  he  offered  me,  with  the  plea  that 
my  cab  was  waiting  below. 

"  Do  3^ou  remember  the  promise,  cousin?" 

"  1  have  forgotten  nothing,"  he  says,  smiling  a  little. 

"  1  want  you  to  manage  an  interview  with  that  man — Gerard  Bax- 
*«r — who  is  in  prison  for  murdering  his  wife." 

Ronald  Scott  looks  profoundly  sui7Ji"ised. 

"  For  me  or  for  you?"  he  asks,  his  eye«  on  my  white  face. 

"  Foi  me.  Y'ou  can  be  present,  of  course;  1  should  wish  you  tc 
be  present.  And  it  need  not  last  more  than  fir-e  minutes,  if  so  long.'' 


FOR    LITE  65 

iiokes  CO  anRwei  juinule  or  two.  He 

i>e  tiiMc,  oue  hand  icittuig  upuu  u,  looking  down  at 
't  lilui, 

'11  (-nil  do  ibis  for  me,  Rocald?'* 
.  hf  Hii  ncouaiutaiKie  oi  jours':" 
— Vii*.  aLG  Is." 
^.as,' "  Hf^tKiti  ohscrvpc.  slirupi^u  .,  i.i» -liwu  uera. 
< '  "  1  reptiat stubboriiiy.     **  Gerard  Baxitr  is  a  friend  of 

lu.,;!i:  !' .  {^nrk  browB  meet  in  a  rather  hetivy  frown. 

'' '  'ou' you  made  bis  iicqutviuLaoci',  liosulle?" 

;;i  the  Biuve  bou'^e.  in  London — ihe  house  in  Cttileton 
Ire  A  am  sliijiug  now. " 

lean  linghJng  outright  at  the  exceeding  2:ravity  of  his 

■""  the  bunch  Ot  violets;  but  1  do  not  tell  Konaldaboit 

Jerent  relaliujc;  a  ijiece  of  ihou^ldlesF  folly  like  liri 
-J    x^  •  feo  mucli  more  buinou*?  an  oliense  repeated  • 

le  CO..  ;itb^lic  eyes  of  my  judicial  couvsin! 

"'  '    MOW  you  ever  niiiJe  ui!^  ac<)'ifliiitance,  Eosaiie.    .. 

3ii  :;  in  Ilie  same  bouse  for  itiiiy  yeai's,  you  slioi!   \ 

iv\  :::nce  with  him." 

"  .:e  respectable!    1  met  bim  in  other  plac 

iji lesions  knew  bim — be  waa  at  ibeir  bousK 

''  A;  pectabiiit)',"  Konald  says  coidly,  "  that  must  be  a 

laiur  u.     Subsequent  events  have  proved  that  he  cou  d 

:>!  li.i^  very  re.'-peclabie  Hcquaintance  ior  you  or  any  one 

"  Oh  ..-^nt  events!" 

"  "  c  Vv'ei'e  no  subai-quent  events.     Tldsllavlcr 

iv<  ,'  n>i;m — not  exactly  the  kind  of  friend  Miss 

W'  a  for  her — at  least,  1  think  not." 

..ii,  Fioiinld.  Idan*  sa}"  yoii  are  r'l  ■  ' ; 

lit  .in  my  want  of  exclusivtmesJ  no'v^ 

:.:.  ....;aago  that  I  uu.y  see  iv^  "?•:.  .m1_                   ^ 

"  .  ^'"^  rather  sharply. 

"  .  single  question. " 

r  Mbiiully'     '       Tiice  has  grov/n  pale  under  ail  iL. 

\\i  !ny  owi:. 

,  Kusuiic.     But  it  will  be  altogether  iu 
ev:  ,  ,fnt." 

rh  Uie  more  1  Lh'ink  you  for  keeping  it.     If  it  co^l 
?.'■  keep  a  prouuse,  tnere  would  not  be  occti&ion   f(»r 

.  v.ould  IbeieV**     He  do(!8  no!  answer,  stan<ling  Ik-- 
■  '  •  "M  ibe  Jahle,  still  isludying  my  face.  "  **  '"'■'  ■ 
ill  wish  you  ;;oOii  by,  Cousin  Konab: 

i  Slrcfct.     1  have  written  to  Olive  to  come  to  see 

••>  see  this  man  that  you  csuie  up  to  town  J' 


66  FOR    J.i__ 


.1 


"  But  what  i>  li;'  lo  \'.'u,  T^osalie.  that  yo\i  .'Oiicern  yourse 

in  his  affiiiis?'' 

"  He  is  uothiij.,  \^,  i^.c, 

"  Then  why  mix  yourself  up  in  such  a  disgrficeful  busincsf 

**  Because  I  he  mnn  is  innocent,  anfi  1  must  prove  it." 

"  Prove  it,  my  poor  child!    Ho-.v  couLl  you  prove  it?" 

"  Thero  must  he  some  way  to  prove  it — if  the  miiu  is  innoceui. 

1   believe  Ije  thmivs  my  nana  lia8  not  quite  recovered  from 
ellc^ra  oT  !he  fever — he  certainly  looks  at  me  i.  ihought 

si  igh  t  ly  d  e  ran  j^erl . 

*'  1  have  not  studied  the  case.     But  my-own  "impressions  arc  t 
the  man  is  guilty.     If  1  can  manage  wind  yon  \v-:in  mt\  :.)  do.  whi.., 
shall  I  meet  you?"  I 

'*  If  you  come  to  Carlelon  Street  for  me,  I  ,b.^<.i .  ...  ^o  with 

you," 

"It  will  very  likely  be  to-morrov^^" 

'•  Tben  I  shall  ren\ain  at  home  all  to-morrow.     And,  if  you  fail, 
you  will.Iet  me  know?" 

'*  1  will  let  you  kuov/,     1  hope  you  are  taking  care  of  yourself, 
Cousin  Kosalio.     You  look  thoroughly  worn  out." 

"  Oh,  1  am  ver3'  well — a  little  tired  from  the  journey  peihaps!' 

I  wrap  my  fur  c]oi\k  about  me,  shivering,  though  it  is  August 
Ronald  walks  down  the  hotel-stairs  with  me  across  the  hail,  i"  " 
silence  which  I  do  not  care  to  break.     He  puts  me  into  tJie  cal> 
the  same  almost  stern  sdencx}.     1  do  not  glance  back  at  him  as 
cab  leaves  the  door,  though  he  siands  there  bareheaded,  look 
after  me.     1  am  thinking  of  a  man  in  prison-  a  man  wliom  1  s; 
to  love  the  raore  tlie  more  the  v;orld  hates  hun — riie  more  he  set 
to  have  madd  siiip wreck  of  his  own  most  miserable  ii 


1  have  seen  Gerard  in  piison.  Ronald  Scott  manr.Q'sd  it  all  for  mi 
— came  with  me  himself  to  the  prisoner's  eel'. 

X  have  heard  Gerard's  story — I  have  asked  Ihv;  .^■..^■.,  vi>.v.,...?D  1 
wanted  to  asti;  and  tlje  anawev  ha^continned  my  own  belief — Geraul 
Baxter  is  innocent  of  the  horrible  crime  imputed  lo  him.  1  beiievv 
every  word  of  the  story  he  has  told  me,  as  tirml}'"  as  I  believe  that  J 
am  a  living  woiiian.  lie  knows  no  moie  of  the  manner  in  which  hi."^ 
wertched  wife  met  her  death  than  1  do,  except  that  he  had  no  hand 
or  part  in  it. 

My  intervievir  with  him  lasted  half  an  liour.  Ronald  Scott  stood 
leaning  with  folded  arms  under  the  barred  window;  Gerard  walked 
up  i\r.(\  do.vii  il,;-  <•,  11  restlessly,  reminding  me  '  r  ■-.*-  <•  fii- ■•■!"!  creat- 
ure ■ 

.1  all  his  stretch  of  burnincr  satil 

hhi'iiiks  to  ii  twiliglft  fif'ii,  whicii  his  desjMH- 
(Jail  jMsasure  at  u  stride." 

He  and  1  met  without  a  word,  with  white  nblino 

outstretched  hands—two  mi^:eral)le  beings — so  Your.ii;,  yet  lor  whom 
all  the  happiness  there  might  have  been  in  the  world  seemed  to  jiav< 
come  to  an  end.  What  Kcnald  Bcott  thought  of  our  m{,H.'fing  1  l.p.cn'^ 
noi, — 1  L^id  never  given  him  a  thought  during  the  whole  of  the  inter- 
view. 


I'j'.:    1.;. 

laa  loM  me  iiis  w  retcji".!  -loiy  in  very  /• 

of  Hay  JQ  self  di;iensc  to  the  Hijji^istratc  1 

isiify  him  betore  the  worit] — he 

;' — but  that  he  might  juBtifj'  him 

■  fc?i)e  lui't  the  bouse  ou  the  Iwentysecoud 
■/or  sceu  her  since,  Jtiive  or  dead,"  he  said,  p 

up  and  down  to  confrcnr,  me  as  I  sat  on  ihe  :  pallet. 

..^  ran  away  in  a  rage  becau«c  1  scolded  I""    '•  inn-. — 

II  never  saw  her  n^aiu." 
"  Then  wliy  did  you  U'U  her  mother  what  ;<UM-.M>;      w  ns  i.'i>^Mt 

f  nt  those  siorics'tor  the  neigV.bors— uboui  letters  and  messages?" 
■'  T:  il  me.  and  1  had  to  say  Romelhin;;. " 

ot  have  told  tb.e  I  ruth?" 
"  1  would  railier  1  ave  said  I  killed  her  than  luive  told  Iho  truth," 
''But  whv?"  1  :;skL'<l,  astonished.     "  If  you  knew  nothing  about 
r,  whv  >'  iowlmtmust  turn  tosuch  terrible  evidence  against 

.irself?" 
■'  1  did  not  care  a])ont  rayjelf," 

■  But  you  did  not  benefit  her." 

rie  turned  away  from  me,  walking  up  and  down  the  floor  again, 
lo<?p  red  angry  fluith  o:i  hiB  hag;:?ard  face. 

*  ^be  was  such  a  fool,  such  a  poor  senseless  idiot;  and  1  bad  driron 
;  to  if — or  so  1  thought  1  oiiiiht  not  to  have  tried  fo  .  itJi 
:•  n*-  I  wo'ild  with  a  rtsponsible  bein;jl    1  ought  to  h  .  her 

wiih  bread  and  wntrr  like  an  obytinut*;  c' 
.  >p£'»  hint  alx)i»t  jealousy  came   into 'n-.  He 

I  been  jealous  of  somebody — some  artist  wli  lln^^ 

wife's  beautiful  face. 

'  It  would  have  been  better  to  have  told  (lie  trnth,"  I  repeated, 
letter  to  have  said  that  slie  had  p,onc~you  knew  not  whore," 
"But  I  did  know,  or  I  thought  1  knew.     She  had  threatened 
>re  than  oneo  to  oro  to — a  friend  she  hiid  in  London.    ^  /" '  Lhought 
i*he  hr\il  curried  out  her  threat — at  last." 

I    had  moved  rcstlcssl}'  at  this  '  '  1  had 

it  him.     1  came  here  to  liear  Gc.  ;  story, 

,1  to  hear  it  to  the  end. 
.uiist  hnve  come  out  sooner  or  lati' 
"Then  1  ahouM  have  destroyed  mjrself  1"  the  iad  said  fierceh*. 
'  often  wonder  uov.'  why  1  heid  my  hand!" 

'.  liavo  wondered  .since  how  1  had  strenuth  tr  wn 

>lution;   but  my  mdomitable  wdl,  the  o-  •  '  dc- 

ivd  so  much  in  my  cbanu-tcr,  imd  the  i  ird 

vAcr  could  s>iv<*  him,  car, 
^aw  her  !i«!i»in.  (ro!?i  iha. 

•okfnsf  into  ills  hol'nv;  eyes 
uo  you  (hiiiiv  t^iio — put  nu  end  to  herself?^' 

"  I  do  i)(»;    lliiniv    it.      Sib*    v.a^    iiol    !li'.'  icliid  of  rirl  t.  h\  ' 

•  thai  ■.'" 

^N  here  i-  i:. 
;()  not  know. 


^8  FOR    LIFE    AKD    LOVE. 

why  slix3  hnd  not  come  for  any  more  sittings  for  the  picture.    Bowas 
an  lioiit's!,  Ijilow  though  ho  paid  her  coinplirnejits  eonietimes— every- 
body di<],     Aijd  1  did  not  care  cnoiigl)  yl.out  her  to  be  jealous,  oi; 
1  tOid  i;er  1  v-iould  linre  no  nonsrense-^l  wouki  kill  her  lirst!" 

"  She  was  not  happy,  Gerard?" 

"H;;ppy!"  he  repeated  scorntully.  "  >Ye  are  neither  of  ua. 
happy  !'■•  % 

"  \ou  inust  hnve  broken  her  heart." 

"  Her  bear' I  She  had  no  heart— she  was  as, thoughtless  as  a  baby, 
and  us  iiiuorant.  Her  ignorance  disgusted  me  a  hundred  times  a 
day!"      "- 

"  You  -should  have  had  patience  with  her — she  was  po  young!"      ' 

"  1  or^yht.  It  is  that  which  is  killing  aie  now.  Whatever  she 
did,  1  drove  her  to  it;  but  I  do  not  think  s-he  took  away  her  own 
life.  1  think  she  must  have  slipped  into  the  v.'ater — 1  don't  know 
how  it  happened.  1  only  know  that,  since  slie  left  the  house  on 
the  twenty-second  of  July,  1  have  never  seen  her,  alive  or  de^d." 

Tliis  had  been  the  subt-tauce  of  Gci'ard's  story.  And  now,  as  1 
drive  away  from  the  prison,  breathing  more  freely  outside  the  shadow 
of  those  hopeless,  stupt-ndous  iron -gray  walls,  1  say  toKonald  Scott, 
Avho  is  sitting  opposite  to  me,  looking  not  at  me,  ,but  out  into  the 
crowded  street: 

"  What  do  you  think  now,  Ronald?" 

*'  Very  much  what  1  thought  before,"  he  answers,  coldly  enough. 

"  You  do  not  believe  his  siory  V" 

"His  story  s'eems  plau.'^ibie  enough.  If  the  girl's  body  had  d'.^ 
been  finrnd,  1  might  have  felt  inclined  to  believe  it.  But  the  fir 
ing  ot  the  body  is  a  proof  that  she  ni«t  with  foul  play;  and  that  lu 
conjunction  wiLh  the  false  reports  he  gave  of  her — which  he  himself 
acknowled£=:e8-vvere  false — and  his  jealousy  of  tJie  man  whose  uame 
ne  would  not  give,  seems  to  me  most  couclusi'»e  evidence  of  his 
guilt." 

"  But  he  was  not  joalous  of  her,"  1  my,  feverishly. 

"  I  scarcely  believe  that.  He  must  have  cared  for  her  to  have 
married  ])<'■'.  '  And  she  seems  to  have  had  a  moiit  bcauUiul  fjifc." 

'*  tlo.v  (;.>you  know?" 

"  klci'  pliorograph  is  in  ail  the  shop  window?'.." 

RonaM  ficott  is  not  communicative.     Anything  I  do  gather  from  | 
him   is  dc.iit  out  Viilh  a  reticence  wnich  would  hav  >  annoyed  me 
if  1  had  nut  been  too  much  wrapped  up  in  my  own  thoughts  to  re^ 
sent  it. 

*'  vVliere  are  you  going  now?"  he  inquires  presently.     "Home?" 

"'  No.     i  am  coing  to  '  interview  '  Mrs.  White." 

"Ptosdie,  let  me  advise  you  to  do  no  such  thing.  You  don't 
kuow  what  the  woman  is,  or  where  slie  lives.  Your  uncle  would 
DQ  justly  angry  with  me  if  I  allowed  you  to  go  into  such  purlieus, 
among  the  very  lowest  ilregs  oC  society — " 

"  Xj'scle  Tod  need  know  noihing  about  it.     And  it  you  think  your 

respeciTibility  in  any  wise  compromised  by  being  seen  in  such  a 

*    '     .  the  cab,  and  allow  you  to  step  ont  '  •        'he 

will  certainly,  go  too,"  he  nuf?wrr<i.  d 

;.  itis  s^aie  i\>r  you  with  me.     iZ.iC  \  u 


)Vj:.  69 

.  ui-y  siUuLg  pioLcwt  a^aiust  the  entire  prace«el- 

'  TLieii  ict  t bill  quitit  your  coDscicnce>     1  proml^-- 
.1!'  !!:inlc;ui  ho!p  in  Taw  Al'.cj/ — I  have  no '.  _:: 

(1  of  localit}'- 1  presume  it  \o  bo.     But  1  want  to  st.-e  liiiK 
'   'hou^di  1  do  not  kuow  thsif  i*  '^^ '^'  ''•  >''  "•  •"'•'  miiscovlt}' 
•nefit  our  cause." 
lit  V  :viii-v  IS  uot  sp  utterly  wretched  u  i.,ji.i.- ii.s  1  "',  There 

;'(.  piroe  of  wuslc  pjonrirl  at  tlie  f  wd  of  il,  whore  c  re  play, 

"lere  soinu  c.iothes  nn^  htin«r  out  oii  linos  to  cry.  it  isrsi    "■ 
.  m^'Mi)  by  street,  Vr'ith  snujll  nicrm  houses,  iiot  one  of  -.. 
Kjilncss  1  hiui  pictured  fo  myselt. 
.   tlie  ci:b  ;it  fhe  cntumre  of  the  alh\  I  ask  tlic 

oir.jjn  I  see  slaudiuir  m  a  doortvay  if  she  could  direct  me  to  the 
of  iTilrs,  "Wliiio,  11)6  UnndrejB. 

m  Airs,  White,"  tfie  woo.aa  ansvrors,  wilh  a  quick  cunning 

'•  *  'dt  my  conqvinion,  r.nd  thfji  ;U  me.     She  is  a  white- faced, 

..shed  wonf.m  with  red  hair— i  rather  pity  Ihe  defunct 

.  w  i.iuj  who  was  "  once  a  gentleman  "  as  1  look  at  her. 

"Oil!    1  jmi  a  friend  of  'blv.  Baxter— your  son  iu-law.     And  1 

you — Mud  this  place." 

t  seems  a:^h;4sl  at  niy  tcmeiitj'.    But  he  dftea  not  at- 

o  iutL-i(-re.     At  Gerard  Baxter's  name  the  Tvom^m's  fr.ce  had 

^  il.  Slie  li.Ues  jiim — I  know  it  Die  moment  1  seelliatchanpte  in 

r  counlenance — hatc3  him,  not«-ilhstauding  the  "impartiality" 

''1  liad  won  her  such  fas"or  in  the  court. 

iiave  heard  of  your  daughter,"  1  sny,  cioubtful  how  to  enter 

ua  Mich  a  delicate  subject  with  u  perfect  straiuT   "    ■  ''  nugh 

.'  Ltranuer  be  a  per.'ion  like  jttrs.  Wliite. 

"  JLbout  lierl"  the  wom.m  exelaims  quickly.  *'  'Whatauoui  juer?" 
"  Why,  ail  about  this  sad  biisine^ss!" 

The  wo;v;;:i  niihcs  her  ftprou  to  her  face.     She  hasprotrur! 
-HO  VQvy  protruding  thnt  the)'  look  as  if  they  might  at  uny  < 
1  out  of  liei  head.     And  1  know  by  experience  that  a  woman  with 
;'se  eye  whi  talk  while  she  ran  get  any  one  to  listen  to  her. 
"  You  may  wtil  chIi  itasad  business,  my  lady.    Many  a  one 
ues  here  lo  see  me,  and  they  all  calls  it  a  Bad  busi*^-^'-^  " 
*'  She  was  very  young,  and  very  pretty." 

"Indeed  she  was!    Much  like  myself  whenlwtis  agin.     jJnc 

'TOW  changfis  a  person \^  look^ — sorrow  and  want  imd  a  bad  hus- 

'vill  6oon  take  the  beauty  out  of  the  handsomest  face  in  the 

*'irns  away  and  stares  down  the  alley.  Mrs.  White,  whose 
not  reacii  as  higli  as  lier  eyes,  changes  her  tactics. 
■  She   was  the  only  child  I  had— the   only  one.     Think  what 
iitiVl  i>i>  to  you,  »ny  Imly,  to  see  the  only  thing  you  lovtd  in  tho 
j(\  up  out  ot  the  river  there  like  a  dead  dog!    There's 
iM.iiody  can  forgot  if  they  was  to  live  a  Vhousaud  years!" 
Liliinees  at  Rouald  wlien  she  ?peHks  of  "  the  only  thing  you 
i.a  ui  the  world."     1  sn;  '       '    uks  he  is  my  huBband. 

"  V7asslie,"  1  ask,  and  know  what  prompts  me  to 

►>fiti<m — "  wn-  .'" 

.;  woiuan  Q..  my  face. 


VO  FOE    LIFE    AND    LOYE. 

"  She  was  over  three  weeks  in  the  water,  my  lady — in  course  she 
was  changed." 
"  Yet  you  recognized  her,  beyond  any  manner  of  doubt f 
"I  was  her  mother,  my  lady.  1  would  have  known  her  if  I  saw 
nothiug  but  hei  hair.  Loveiy  golden  hair  it  was— you  may  have 
seen  it  in  her  picture — lots  of  people  saw  it.  It  was  her  hair  the 
Artist-gentlemen  admired — Venetian  hair  they  called  it — though 
some  might  call  it  red.  We  set  no  store  by  lier  looks  till  people  he- 
gan  to  take  notice  of  her — 'twere  an  uncommon  kind  ot  good  looks 
«he  had — like  a  picture!" 

"  You  identified  her  dress  of  course;  you  would  remember  every- 
thing she  W11S  in  (he  habit  of  wearing?" 

Agtiin  the  woriuin  pauses,  eying  me.  And  at  the  pause  Ronald 
Scott  turns  round  to  look  at  her. 

"  It  would  be  queer  if  1  didn't,  and  I  seeing  them  and  her  every 
day  of  her  lite!" 

*'  It  would  be  queer  indeed.  And  you  recognized  her  clothes  at 
once?" 

"  The  minute  I  laid  my  eyes  on  them." 

"  Even  the  little  brooch  yo\i  gave  her— that  you  put  her  father's 
hair  into  yourself!" 

"I'd  luive  sworn  to  that,  if  I  could  have  sworn  to  nothing  else," 
Mrs.  White  asseverates  with  what  seems  to  me  rather  unnecessary 
emphasis.  *'  'Twasn't  much  jewelry  poor  Lily  had,  and  he  never 
gave  her  anything — he  hndn'tit  to  give." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  terrible  shock  to  j'ou  when  you  saw  her?" 

Mrs,  White's  apron  is  up  to  her  face  again;  but  she  glances  over 
the  edge  of  it  witl'.  more  speculation  in  her  eyes  than  is  compatibi 
with  Siny  very  deep-seated  sorrow. 

"  You  may  say  it  was  a  shock  to  ine,  my  lady — a  shock  I  won't 
be  the  better  of  for  the  rest  of  my  life!" 

"  I  do  not  think  anybody  could  be  deserving  of  greater  pity  than 
a  mother  who  has  lost  her  only  child,"  I  say  -Advisedly. 

And  then  1  slip  half  a  sovereign  into  the  woman's  hand  and  turn 
away,  Ronald  folio  ving  me.  We  speak  no  word  until  we  find  our- 
fiees  in  tlie  cab  again,  well  out  of  hearing  distance  ot  Taw  Alley. 

'*  Weil?"  1  say  then,  stooping  forward  eageiiy  to  look  into  my 
companion's  face. 

*'  You  would  make  a  first-claas  lady  detective.  Cousin  Rosalie!" 

*'  Bui  what  do  you  think,  Ronald?" 

*'  What  do  you  think,  Rosalie?" 

"1  think,"  1  say  deliberately,  leaning  back  against  the  cushion 
again,  "  that  woman  would  swear  to  anything." 

"Sodol." 

"  The  body  they  found  was  not  Lily  Baxter's  body." 

"  I  do  noi  think  it  was." 

*'  And  Mrs.  White  has  perjured  herself!" 

**  She  hates  her  son-in-law,  and  will  hang  him  if  she  can." 

I  shiver  in  my  warm  cloak.     But  at  the  same  time  I  '"' -  '^  long 

iireath  of  the  most  exquisite  relief. 

"  Do  you  think  she  kuows  whena  her  daughter  is,  KoiuLar^ 

**  Iso;  I  do  noi  think  she  does.  She  has  merely  sworn  to  the  iden 


FOR    LIFE    AND    LOVE.  71 

tity  of  the  body  as  a  in«ani  of  being  revenged  on  Baxter  for  his 

*  ""--atm  en  t  of  t  he  gi  r  1 . " 

And  Gerard  Baxter  is  Innocent!"  1  exclaim,  "with  a  little  womau- 
jy  triumph.  **  And  you,  a  judge,  i^ould  have  condemned  him  to 
death !" 

"  Isot  quite,"  Ronald  says,  smiling  for  the  first  time  since  we 
drove  through  the  prison-gates  an  hour  ago.  **  1  said,  it  the  girl's 
body  had  not  beeii  found,  1  would  have  been  inclined  to  believe  hi« 
?tory.     And  now  1  am  of  opinion  that  it  has  not  Ix^en  found," 

I  am  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  enjoying  that  delicious  sensatioB 

relief.     The  tension  of  the  last  three  or  four  days  is  relaxed—l 

1  as  if  1  could  breathe  again. 

'  Ilow  to  tind  Lily  Baxter  1"  1  say,  at  last. 

'  Ah,"  my  cousin  answers  deliberately,  "  that  may  be  more  easily 
said  than  done!" 


Ve  put  advertisements  In  the  papers — almost  in  every  paper  in 
-land.     The  corouer  who  held  ihe  inquest  on  the  body  of  Lily 
•cter  must  be  astonished  if  he  sees  the  notice  in  the  papers,  calling 
)a  her  to  cx)nie  forward  and  save  her  husband's  lite.     Nobody 
)WB  anything  about  it  but  Ronald  and  1 — we  are  probably  the 
y  people  in  London,  except  the  girl's  own  raotJier,  who  are  not 
.  iug  the  unfortunate  victim  and  execrating  the  unnatural  hns- 
i.     The  traged}'  has  made  a  sensation;  but  already  the  interest 
:;  out — doublless  all  to  bo  revived  when  the  trial  comes  on  iu 
I.     1  remain  on  at  my  lodgings  in  Carleton  Street  day  after 
■■,  vainly  hoping  that  Ronald  may  bring  some  good  nev.'s.     But, 
ugh  he  is  tioing  everything  he  can,  it  is  very  little  beyond  insert- 
ad  verli^eraents  an<l  putting  a  detective  or  two  to  work;  we  hear 
hing  of  the  missing  girl.     Whether  she  knows  the  jeopardy  in 
ich  bor  silence  has  placed  her  nusband  or  not  we  have  no  means 
'vDowing.     But  it  can  hardly  be  that,  knowing  his  innocence,  she 
lid  let  him  suffer  the  extreme  penalty  ot  the  law.     However  it 
s'  be,  or  wherever  she  may  be,  the  days  pass  by —the  long  weary 
^ — nnd  atill  she  makes  no  sign. 

time  ilxed  for  the  tiial  is  very  near.     I  have  made  no  attempt 

tt  njy  visit  to  Gerard  Baxter's  cell ;  but  Ronald  iSco'tsees  liim 

y  otlen,  and  seems  to  take  great  inteiest  in  him— he  is  so  young 

\ch  a  uvjY^  lad,  and,  we  believe,  innocent  of  the  horrible  crime 

i  to  his  charge.     That  Ronald  will  exert  hiuiself,  when  the  case 

-"  •'•  •'  tri.'d.  1  am  very  sure.     But,  so  long  as  the  public  believe 

jd  Lily   Baxter  to  be  lymg  iu  her  grave  in  the  litUe 

lie  was  buried  on  the  twentieth  ol  August,  they 

i  till  they  have  their  revenge  on  the  wretched 

i'he  bloodoflhe  victim  cries  out  f  fid, 

ro'lnce  Lih'  Baxter,  alive  and  well,  l>.  .  iit- 

1  Baxter  may  be  found  guilty  «X  her  miirdcr 

a. 

)w  tinnly  j^ersuadcd  both  Ronald  and  1  are  of 

■^''i!ie.     Jt  we  had  not  known  hr«*  »"  '"•  <>  " 

wbo  is  ac^juainted  with  her  ne 


«>'3  FOR    LIFE    AKD    LOVE. 

lie  when  she  said  slie  recognized  her  daughter's  body.  It  was  tun 
thin.ir  in  her  maoDer,  slight,  in-deflimble,  yet  enough  to  convince  r 
watchisg  lier  so  closely,  tiiat  she  not  on;y  was  unable  to  identify  the 
body,  but  that  slie  knew  it  was  not  Lily's  body  at  all.  'l\ie  hardi- 
hood of  the  woman  in  rissking  diacovery  did  not  surprise  us.  S 
jooked  hardened  enough  for  any  thing — quite  hardened  enough  to  ]' 
a  boki  front  upon  it  should  Lily  suddenly  turn  up  and  rendei-  i 
liable  to  a  charge  of  perjury. 

1  am  weary  of  waiting,  sick  to  death  of  the  suspense  which  1  suffer 
day  after  day.  1  am  going  honi«  to  morrow — 1  cannot  put  it  off  any 
longer— I  have  been  nearly  a  fortnight  in  town,  and  Aunt  Rosa  threat- 
ens to  fome  up  to  look  after  me.  I  can  do  no  good  by  remainuag  ia 
Carloton  Street— 1  can  scarcely  t  ufter  more  at  W  oodhay  than  I  am  suf- 
fering here,  though  at  Womlhay  1  should  have  no  hoi>e  atler  post 
hourrwhile  here  HtHiaid  Scott  might  walk  in  any  moment  with  some 
good  news.  1  cannot  believe  it  possible  bat  that  somcthiag  will  turn  up 
to  throw  some  light  on  tlio  mystery  of  Lily  Baxter's  dife*ppearanee 
before  the  day  comes  v/hen  her  liusbMid  must  stand  in  tlie  dock  ae- 
cused  of  her  murder.  Sometimes  1  feel  half  tempted  to  think  we 
were  mistaken  in  supposing  Mrs,  TVliite  had  not  really  identified  her 
daught-er's  body.  The  girl's  silence  is  so  unbroken,  she  seems  to 
have  slipped  so  completely  out  of  the  only  world  which  had  ever 
known  her,  that  sometimes  1  think,  whether  that  was  her  body  th> 
found  in  the  river  or  not,  that;  she  must  be  dead. 

Olive  Deane  cornea  to  see  me  very  otten.  1  think  she  is  puzzled, 
about  me — t  am  sure  she  wonders  wliat  can  keep  me  in  London.  J 
have  no  excuse  now  of  music -ie&sone—thej'e  is  no  piano  in  M 
Wauchope's  drawing-room,  and  if  there  had  been,  1  would  not  ha. . 
touched  it.  But  slie  confesses  tluit  my  sojourn  in  town  has  dos'.e  me 
good.  1  seem  to  iut^rpst  myself  moie  in  everything',  1  have  more 
color  in  my  cheeks,  1  do  not  look  so  like  the  ghost  of  ray  f  ormfji  self 
as  1  did  at  Woodhay,  when  she  »nd  Uncle  Tod  thought— vio  she 
confosses  to  me  now— that  1  was  going  to  die  of  consumption. 

1  shall  live  till  Gerai-d  Baxter's  innocence  is  estabiished,  1  shall  live 
to  fiod  Gerard  Baxter's  wife.  This  exciloraent  makes  life  endurable. 
A.nd  (ipr^^f  i  do  not  tliink  of  any  afterward.  1  am  bound  up  in 
the  present,  heart  and  soul.  1  have  fouiad  a  work  to  do,  and,  thougl) 
1  seem  to  have  been  baffled  at  the  very  outset,  1  do  not  despair  oi  8X2- 
eompUshing  it  yet. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  1  have  an  inspiration. 

It  i*:  a  solitary  breakfast.  It  is  still  raining  dolefully— 1  know  ^ow 
Carleton  Slreet'looks,  though  ]  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  looking 
at  it,  oo  principle.  But,  wiihout  going  to  the  window,  1  can  see  the 
djcenched  Imlcony  blackened  by  the  rain,  fringed  by  bright  drops 
w h«rev^  a  dr»pcan  hang;  I  should  kaow  it  rained  by  ihe  limp  dioop 
of  the  ctraJb  moreen  curtcuns  and  of  the  muslin  ones  stiil  hanging  be- 
hind them.  Bat  the  rain  does  not  trouble  me  much,  does  w'  ''"- 
pi' ess  me  as  it  depressed  me  ye£tftrda3^  lor  1  have  got  an  idesi. 

My  train  will  not  kave  London  until  three  o'clock  in  the  attenuxn; 
therefr>re  1  have  five  houi'S  ia  town  still  at  my  uiiipc-T/i,  it  not  having 


FOR     LIl'E    A^"D    LOVE.  "3 

f  wiruck  ten.     Two  LcHira  woiild  be  r.mple  tor  (he  Ir.v  ' 
li;inf»— it  iy  merely  to  pay  a  visit.     Slioulcithe  visit  r.( 
1'  ■•  fujiy,  lind  1  hope  will — a  longer  slay  in  'Loudou,  i  l 

tv.  o  Uncle  Tod  a«?ain.     Aunt  Kosa  will  think  1  have; 

lUHii;  hilt  that  ciiunot  be  helped.  Some  diiy  or  other  1  will  explain 
everything  (o  ihcm — it  may  not  saliaty  Aunt  Rora,  but  it  will  ac- 
count lor  what  certainly  must  seem  a  very  wild  treak  to  them  both 
now. 

1  shall  not  ask  Konald  Scott  to  go  with  me  thii  time.  I  dare  say 
he  will  be  very  angry  with  me  for  not  afikiug  him;  but  1  have  given 
him  trouble  enough  already,  and  can  do  what  ]  have  to  do  just  as 
well  vithout  him — indeed  pei'haps  a  great  denl  beiler,  1  am  going 
to  see  the  i.Iis.  Haag  wiio  kKlged  in  the  same  house  with  the  Baxtery, 
the  womaa  who  gave  evidence  at  the  exammalion  bctore  the  magi.s- 
trate,  tlie  wife  ol  the  German  Yiolinist,  the  lust  person  perhaps  who 
saw  Lily  Baxtf  r  alive. 

How  tlie  visit  can  benefit  the  cause  1  have  taken  up  I  do  not 
know.  But  some  strange  impulse  prompts  me  to  make  it — not 
prompts  me  merely  indeed,  but  drives  me — J  can  describe.it  by  no 
other  word.  1  feel  impelled  to  go  and  see  this  woman.  She  ha(i 
corrobor;  led  Mrs.  White's  evkleiice,  and  Mrs.  "V^  hite  I  believe  to 
have  peiiurcd  herself.  But  she  had  only  sworn  to  M'hat  she  knew, 
or  tho  knew — if  Mrs.  While  identified  her  daughter's  body, 

surely  -.  Haag,  would  naturally  be  led  to  sec  in  everything 

corrolo;  itive  evidence  that  the  bocl^  was  Lily  Baxter's  body— tJiough 
at  the  iriv}  iiry  she  had  stoutly  denied  having  ever  seen  the  brooch 
before  wlii.  1!  was  found  fastening  the  collar  of  the  drowned  girl, 
'•^his  ckcuniiiauce  alone  gave  me  an  idea  that  the  woman  might  be 
nest --had  been  honest  in  her  conviction  that-the  girl  they  had 
joand  flording  in  the  river  was  none  olhor  than  the  girl  siie  had  last 
seen  aiive  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-second  of  July. 

1  know  trom  the  newsf)aper  report  where  Mrs.  Haag  lives,  or  dirl 
live  in  »li;  'i'^>«  of  Ihe  inquiry  into  Lily  Baxter's  disappciirance.     If 

omebody  Ihesi'e  wfil  liable  to  tell  me 
.    ;         :l,\y,  or  the  people  at  the  theater — 1  re 
ue  and  sijuatiou — will  bo  abie  to  give  me  her  lius- 
I  liavp  becomd  quite  clever  at  hiding  on  expedienls 
py  cl<»vefneS3  has  led  tosolitlle.     But  my  want  of  suc- 
-  i! ;    •.       .  I  anted  me,  though  1  did  lift  up  a  htrnwlfible  voice  in 
'  own  V  >i);t!  last  night  and  ciy  as  it  my  heart  would  break.     But 
ny  courage  has  come  bnciv  to  mo.  tJie  old  indomftahle 
nt  Rosa  calls  stublmrnncss,  the  obstinacy  whic)  I  rri'ict 
from  the  grcat-gveat-.iriau(imother  whose  or 
d  to  me,  and  who  was  known  as  the  most  pi^  i 

lime, 

■Hi  my  brcalcfaat,  put  on  my  bonnet,  and  sent  Mary 
I  by  my  own  umbrella,  to  fetch  a  cab.     1  have  a  re- 

>.    v  .. totid,  grimy-faced  maidof  ail  work.     She  had  liccu 

p.d  to  tijc  poor  lad  who  used  to  hxlge  here— bad  she  not  on  one  oc- 
ion  lelt  Uiv  newly-lighted  lire  to  its  own  devices  to  attend  to  his 
MuerV  I.  'iary  J^nne  would  like  a  situation  in  the  countrj',  1  wiK 
d  one  tor  her;  but  1  doulit  if  ifary  Anue  could  live  out  of  the 
vcmeut  ol  II  Loudon  lod^ijig- house. 


/*  -D     LOVE.  I 

kt  ftliil  mfns,  a  fiue  cheeiie>-H  diizzle.     But  I  am  not  ruiUKiiig  cm 
thn  weaJiier  jis  I  staie  sirai^h^  beforg  me  Rt  Ihe  din<;y'  "  Ccming  o: 
AL,'e  Of  ihe  Beir  "  wbif  b  romiuds  lue  so  muoh  of  tile  weeks  1  spen 
hate  Va^*.  MiucU — those  bap|)y  careless  weeks  wneu  Gemnl  J3nxter  aH<s 
1  fell  in  lOve  w'iib  eMcb  oiher.     Then  the  g-itiomy  old  room  was  s 
frtiiy  land  lo  me,  a  ioors  paradise  wbereiu  1  shI  and  (Ireanied  of  h 
day  th>-,*  was  never  10  be.     Now  no  boyish  laugh  echoes  down  thai 
stnifi*,  no  suspicion  ot  cigar -smoke  conves  \s-*irt^d  up  from  iheli    ' 
door  steps.     Only  all  iLe  place  is  full  of  jibftjinung  prefeetKe,  the  > 
rowtiii  {i'hor*!.  of  the  poor  n^oud  boy  who  bad  dared  lo  fall  i -    .». 
with  me,  and  wham  I  bad  been  loo  wise  or  too  weaiv  to  sjivo. 

Ho%v  can  ihrU  ^M-|  he  married  care  so  llitle  about  him?     She  is 
wite,  be  li'r  busbanil.     It  she  l)c  indeed  alive,  bow  can  she  let  1; 
lie  ia  such  jeopardy?     Siie  had  care<l  for  bim  once;  be  bad  said 
me  tbftt  day  at  Woodbay — "  Siie  was  fond  ot  me— 1  will  do, her 
juslice  to  say  that  she  was  fnnd  of  me,  niiserable  beggar  that!  wa 
If  she  has  any  feeling  tor  him  sfiil  leit  in  her  bear^— if  she  does  i 
bate  him  utterly,  as  her  mother  bates  bim,  bo^^  can  sli£  leave  Ijim 
languish  in  prison,  ac-cuHedof  a  crime  of  which  slje  done  could  prove 
bim  innocent  ?     i  bt-lleve  her  mother  to  be  a  stupidly  vicfons  womart, 
who  woaJd  shrink  from  noihiagshort  of  actual  iir  -i  in  ah 

BiU  the  girl  bud  tlje  face  ot  an  anicel — 1  cannot  ;- r  cnpn 

ot  the  hovrib":e  eriieby  of  allowing  her  husband  to  d: 
from  her  coidd  save  ills  life. 

Mary  Anne  comes  back  in  the  cab.  1  put  on  my  warm.doak — the 
d&y  is  raw  and  cbUly — and  set  out  on  my  erratic  vejiture,  witho' *• 
spying  a  v/onl  to  any  one  of  where  1  am  i^oino;.     Nol)ody  will  .^ 
m.3;  even  it  this  had  been  a  daj-  when  people  would  V       "    :\'  lo  ije 
out  of  doors,  nobody  coald  recognize  methrouirh  Ihetl.  ...e  veil 

1  ')-vrii  tied  closely  ovx'r  the  upper  part  of  my  face.  It  iioiiiid  Sc-: 
cui.s  at  Carieton  S:ree},  be  will  suppo'^e  1  have  gone  to  stv',  Oi' 
i>e,'inp,  or  liu' Kulleslons,  who  came  Ivack  to  town  yesiciHay.  t' 
he  is  more  lik'My  to  meet  me  at  the  rail  way-slat  ion  at  three  n'rlnr-!.. 
indeed  he  is  alriiosl,  aure  lo  be  there,  t«  look  after  my  hi^ 
I)or{mr.nt(m:i -and  to  wij<h  me  goodb3\ 

1  le.ich  Shitor's  Bairdin;2:ci  after  much  drivhi<?-  through  devic 

^'r    ■' ■  '  uies  ot  whose  existence  even  1  bad  not  been  cognizanr 

w  ^  -U's  Ihe  mere  sight  of  which  makes  ine  wondej'  how  a; 

i>;im  111  '!'j..n:j;  cou](i  live  and  b)eathe  their  loa'hsoiiie  airs.  B 
Biator's  Building'?  arc  not  so  bad  an  some  of  these,  nor  is  the  ter 
ment-ho.i:^.!'  i  am  lo  search  of  in  sncb  lameufabie  v.ant  of  repair  ai 
vcntilafirm  a.s  some  I  have  passed  in  my  journey  to  it 

A  woman,  minding  a  lillle  toddlingchild  on  ihe  dooistep,  tells  me 
that  Alis.  Ra;»g  dou^  live  there,  eying  meat  the  same  lime  witJi  acun- 
ning!y  suspicious  look.  Deslriiig  the  cabman  to  wait, for  me,  and 
rather  gind  ;o  see  a  policeman  at  tlie  corner  of  tbeslreet,  1  follow  the 
wo;»an  -s  diicotinn.-*,  and  a  minute  later  find  myselt  in  tbe  presence 
of  tbe  Gerjf.an  viojlnist's  wife. 

She  is  a  Genu;; a  tfM)— 1  know  it  before  she  .^ipeakB — a  stolid,  good 
-•lumored  lornuti,;  woman  wish  round  blue  eyes  and  flaxen  hair 
:!no;.)thiy  drawn  Ita'-l-;  under  a  whife  cap  Hei  room  is  quite  neat 
and  cieau;  sJie  vva.*  working  a  >:evving  mnchine  when  1  tapped  at  the 
utjor:  huL  she  bus  kik  Jier  work  lo  speuk  lo  ukc,  politely  Oitering  rao 


tell  ber  ; 

•Oil ill   !kU   tne  flnyrhiiit; 

,  ':  In  Ibe  Uoan2  rj  tlip  su:: 

1  if  she  liio'ig  iuMe  V.  ticy 

Mjpied. 
;iuii  sbnki-s  bei  bead;  she  does  not  tbiak  it  possible  tbat  1  could 

0  Ibe  room  — tbe  lunJlord  bad  tbe  key-— it  had  no'  '    ""  '-t  since — 
•jple  did  uot  seem  to  care  uLout  taking  it — nobon  to  take  ;; 

i)ud  naine,  and  people  will  i\l'\  '    .v^    ■ 

.;^b  a  liiiu|^  b.ippcns— it  issil.j, 
it.     iiao  .-i-'ca.x.s  in  quaint  GiTQiun-Englisb.     i 
.d  lier  boa-'-s!  lound  blue  eyes.     Sue  tells  nie  nil 
.li  Baxters,  wiib  liHsit;;ilon.     I  can  see  tbat  it  bus  nyvei-  d^♦^ 
»on  ber  but  Ibal  Lily  Jl'jxter  is  dead;  no  doubt  of  tbe  body  1:  i 
on  ijpj*  bod}'  bas  evei  enicred  ber  bead.     Tl»atsbedid  uf)t  i 
'  i>—  •!.  iH  notiiing — 8lio  luight  bave  hadtweaty  brooches  ..  ■..■,,. 

seeinfic  tbem~and  she  was  not  observant— she  could  no. 
•u  s vMur  to  liui  d less  she   had  on  — it  w^s  tl-e  red  hair  8he  recou- 
/ed,  sbf»  sjiid,  and  the  black-cloili  jjickt-u     Tliat  altuost  everyho'lv 
:  I  jacket  did  uol  seedi  to  have  "   '  er — slie  ' 

tbe  c?Irl  found  bad  been  thi-  ,  and,  \. .. 

.'d  os\  II  luollier  swore  to  iier  identity,  it  wa^i  iioJ,  for  ber  i< 
1  could  see  all  this  plainly  in  every  word  she  said— she  ba:^ 
•en  it  tor  gran'ed  that  tbediowned  woman  bad  l)een  her  neii^hbor, 
.  I  there,  with  true  Gerruiin  pblegn:,  she  had  let  tbe  matter  rest. 

1  do  EOt  rouse  any  suspicion  to  the  contrary  in  her  mind  now— it  i 

)   for  that  1  carru-  to  Si:dor  a  Buildings.     Aflcruavd  v -  '■■' 

\i  wofuan  into. our  conbdetiee;  but  what  1  want  to  iii 

I  r  had  any  fri^juds — any  girl  of  her  c.\ii 
L'iris  have.     Mrs.  ilaag  dots  not  know — .vl. 
-r  vviis  very  childish— silly  rather— and  very  vaiu. 
iiflemeu  had  fc-poilod  her— not  that  sho  way  bad  either,  ■ 
:  y  anfl  cliildisb;  if  used  to  vex  her  husband.     And  he  did  not  allov 
•I  to  associate  much  wilb  her  neighboi'<»;  he  was  a    ev.'lt-iii.ui  once 
'  I  kept  biins«-lt  to  himself,  and  would  baveljer  o 
Ki  was  so  childish,  she  would  not  bo  i^aid  naj*^  by  iii.-i. 
*  B\it  bad  she  no  liiend  at  all,  no  compacion,   no  old  Bcliool 

■"  1  Mi*U,  looking  hard  into  the  woman's  con    ' 

>i  1  vou  nes^er  hear  her  e-peak  of  any  oo\ 
it  seems  so  strange  for  a  girl 

•;'t  itV" 

Id  not  allow  her  to  ii^i 
"  It  wa<»  one  reason  • 
as  one  thing  whuh  made  us  dislike  hitn;  he 
'^  t'^^  'road.     There  were  some  people  lod 
luily — the  latbei  played  llie  '  cello' 
nd.     They  w<^re  not  fortunate — thef  ,,,,11 

another  was  dead — of  the  children,  t  is  m  tli 

;d  (me  was  a  cr"  * 

v',  or  tbt;  child 
;hc  ileir  soon  put  a  .stop  ;u  . 
'  other  thf»ater~l  kuo>v  no; 


,.  FOlt    LIFE    -L..  J    _.  .  „. 

''  Do  ;  .  \,  iicre  they  are  now?"  1  ask  eagerly, 

"  i  do  u.)i  Kiiow.     "The  father  wha  a  poor  wtelch,  always  besot! 
-:-■'''''   ■     ■■:,     Kow  tiii  liifpt  his  dtustioa  ia  auy  orchestm  1  do  l 
Bn[  tie  was  a  .irootl  musiciaa  —  he  had  talent — it  was 
iiiousnnu  pfiif-s  he€cui(i  not  keep  Lim«elf  steady." 

"  The  ciippleii  child— 1k)\v  o;d  w;^s  she?" 

*' Ten  or  eleven,  periapc;  but  she  lookwl  like  an  old  woman.  Si 
fed  thvoiii^h  a  liap  on  the  stage  and  hurt  her  back — she  was  playi.. 
In  a  Chrii:i:n:iH  panlomime— and  she  never  recovered  irom  it.  t" 
was  like  a  -.vitcli  or  a  aionke^'.  But  &he  loved  Mrs.  Baxter,  that  ciu/ 
She  loved  her  whh  her  whole  heart  and  soul." 

1  miL'^r  ond  tUnt  rliLid! 

**  CtxT:  v  J  L  not  give  tne  any  cletv  by  v;h!ch  1  mi\u;ht  find  that  fa; 
JIY?     1  CIO  lioi  mind  s>pe<iding  inon<?y — 1  iiave plenty  ot  iiioney. 
I  wouid  give,  anytiung  to  see  that  child !" 

Mrs.  H^iiiip:  Blares  at  me.     Aly  excitetnen-t  puzzles  her. 

'•  Wait  a  riioment,"  she  sa}'^,  and,  leaving  me  in  possession  of  h 
him  little  rooni,  she  ^ocs  down  stairs. 

Hhe  is  gone  about  tive  minutes,   which  firne  1  spend  gazim: 
belwetu  tL'i  uerauiums  on.  the  Avindow-sill  at  my  cabman,   v\ : 
stands  besiac  his  vehicle  in  the  mirrow  street,  rubbing  his  har., 
together  and  glancing  impatiently  from  time  to  time  at  the  open  dc 
below, 

Mrs.  Haac:  comes  back  at  last. 

"  1  tho;!:;lit  my  n-eigiibor  in  the  next  hou^^t'  (iiigu;  khow  uiq  i\.\\. 
.iddress— biic  too  is  a  German — she  can  hardly  speak  any  Kngli> 
She  says  it  is  a  piaoc  CiiUed  Frigj^te  Lane— a  very  lo\y  place— .v; 
hiippens  to  [mow,  because  r.bout  two  months  ago  siie  heard  iium  o. 
of  the  chiuLf.-n,  and  she  stijl  had  the  letter  by  good  chance,  ii; 
ing  son«a  ajy  to  answer  it." 

"  Tiuijjk  you  vrry  mach,"  1  say  hurrit^y,  slipping  a  note  ir 
hxi  woman's  hand — I  say  it  is  for  lImj  baby  whoui  1  see  a-sleep  in  li 
rudle.  and  turning  to  leave  the  loom,  "  with  all  Hope's  torches  ; 
in  boih  njy  eyes." 

*,'  1  hope  niadame  does  not  intend  lo  go  to  that  place,"  the  worn; 
sax's,  d'..^;ainl;ig  me.     **  It  would  i>e  no  place  for  madume." 

"  Oh,  I  aiii  not  af/aid — Imusl  go!"  i  exchiim,  thinking  of  Bona; 
andA\;n'  jio^a,  but  teeiing  very  niuch  as  a  fox-hunter  must  It 
v.hen  he  ijir.Me  the  "view  ludloo."  "  1  dare  not  waste  a  momeL 
t  imiy  be  a  matter  of  lile  and  death;  but  i  thank  you  all  the  san^ 
lor  yoM!'  !  '■  1.ne3S;  perhaps  it  may  be  in  niv  rK';\v<.r  some  day  to  ;. 
tiira  ;. '' 

I'Ill  V  ..  "'OSes  the  door  upon  mev.u.i  ,.  v......   which  sp.  ...v. 

'VOiume''. 

"  ^^b"  /    ..'.  ir^iss?' 

"  To  ;\ ,  !i;l;er  Xine,  Frigate  Lane." 

1  give  lie  iidilrr-ss  a«  unflinchingly  as  I  can.     It  is  almost  at  ll 
other  end  of  Use  ciiy — so,  at  least,  1  judge  from  the  man's  lace.     B'. 
■3  climij-:  (o  hi'3  box  Vvilhout  entering  any  compiaiut,  tucks  hi:j  n. 
;  bont  hiia  leisurely,  and  slarls  alf  fit  a  t>!u-c  vi-bicli  pronn^es  to  br:;; 
IS  ihMe  Hoo  It  du'ik. 

1  1)M' ..    .;  nje  fijue  duri;.,, 
li  ui  father  uucoiiVti. 


Srivflto  detective  in  such  a  wretchedly  discrediln.M  .  ...  .uv  .-h  oe 
axter  case.  1  can  quite  syrapathize  with  mj  Cousin  Ronald's 
robation  —  Ibis  drt^^'s  work  will  bring  hh  o  no  lo  a 

but  it  lie  had  sliown  ten  times  nioi-e  disu;  nay,  a 

J  limes,  it  would  nof  hare  made  any  dilfcrence  lo  i.ic.  VVhat 
o  to  sar?  the  mnn  1  loved— the  man  whom,  Ihro'i^h  all  my 
id  101101'  lion,  1  ieel  thaf  1  love  siiii  iu  eveiy 

.  my  UD'        _  —1  will  do,  if  it  coste  mo  not  OQl,y 

naid  Scott,  but  every  friend  1  have  in  the  ■\vorld. 


CHAPTER  Xll. 

N,  in  the  course  of  time,  and  after  some  more  or  Ifss  tedious 
'»s  for  the  |v.iii-)0se  ot  inquirin*:^  the  way,  tliecablji'nily  coiniis 
ill,  and  1  let  down  the  Ynndow,  ]  am  positi  'ied 

x'lne  wretchednesB  of  tlie  locality  in  which  1  i  elf. 

xiucdui  is  it  that  1  shrink  from  the  ideti  of  steppini;  out  into  the 
(1  und  dirt,  among  the  swarms  of  raggal  children  vho  look  as  if 
h,  air  and  soap  and  water  were  alike  unknown  luxuries.     The 
is  horrible  to  breathe,  rage:ed  clothes,  hung  high  overhead  o» 
3  stretching  across  the  narrow  street,  drip  with  moisture,  the 
Iks  are  strewn  with  refuse  of  fish  and  vegetables.     In  all  my 
ore  1  have  never  been  iu  such  a  place,  and  my  lirst  impulse 
0  turn  my  back  upon  it  then  and  there.     Ilut  1  think  ot  au  even- 
;  not  very  long  ago,  ot  a  faint,  clear,  gold-green  sky,  of  a  boy 
o  had  promised  to  love  me,  hohling  me  to  hi.s  heart  lu  the  star- 
it;  and,  dnuving  a  long  breath,  which  i?  almost  a  sob,  1  step  out 
lie  cab,  desiring  the  man  to  wait  for  me  as  before,  and  cross  the 
ddy  pavement  with  my  silk  skirt  held  tightly  in  my  hand, 
EH)  the  Raffs  live  here?"  1  ask  of  one  ot  the  wretched-looking 
(iron  who  have  crowded  round  me. 

Ye.s,"  the  girl  answers  not  uncivilly;  *'  they  live  at  Ko.  9— right 

it  the  house." 

in  the  nairow  eatry,  I  eye  the  broken  dirt-begrimed 

isly,  winding  upw-yrd  betvreen  walls  the  idea  of  com- 

I  with  which  aende  a  shudder  through  mr  veins,  so 

oLed  are  they  by  the  gruny  ksndfi  andshoulder.'^of  1  know  not 

..lany  generations  ot  nigged  passet'supauddown.     But.  it  is  for 

ard;  the  thought  nerves  m^  to  encounter  even  the  nameless  hor- 

-  of  that  ill-lighted  staircase  and  1  know  not  what  further  dens 

loul  air  and  wretched n<-s»8  lo  which  it  Iwiils.     And,  with  the  fur- 

vtirauce  that  iu  a  few  mioittes  1  shall  have  left  F :"     '    ^.ane 

iiH  horrors  behind  me,  I  set  out  on  my  adventure  ;. 

ay  to  the  top  ot  the  house.  The  latter  juili  of  the 
in  almost  totaj  dirUne^L^j;  but  at  last  1  r<"'"jeli  n  nflrrow 
lee  low  doors  op  ;>n  It.     1  kn  :u»  near- 

no  answer;  my  •  i     ,    :J  ihc  next  i-  I  bv  .i 

rp"  Oomein!" 

"^  in,  and  am  ac^reeably  surprised  ;..  w.. ..  ....  .^  .„.y 

^;sK  of  the  gMirft-roo'n.     There  are  plants  in  Tug  window^ 

i'ii«g  plants  hanging  frmu  Itllie  wire-bj\skets,  cc (ems  in 

.3S  covered  with  pine  cones,  a  geranium,  a  iX)t  <  Two 


78    •  li    LIFE    AKD    LOVU. 

beds  covered  with  cleae  pal cb work  quilts  stand  at  one  end  of  tlie 
room;  there  are  some  unframed  pictures  on  the  wall — prints  troin 
the  **  Graphic  "  and  the  "  Illustrated  News."  But  1  see  only  one 
thing  when  1  open  the  door— a  little  girl  pausing  in  the  middle  ot 
the  floor,  leaning  on  crutches — ^a  chikl  yvhh  a  quamt  old-fashioned 
lace,  with  sharp  black  eyes,  with  short,  thick,  black  hair  tied  back 
from  her  ta<^e  with  a  piece  ot  scarlet  woolen  braid,  with  a  blue  check 
pinafore  over  a  very  poor,  wnli-patched,  bicwu  statf  frock. 

"  Is  your  name  Raff?"  1  ask,  shrinking  from  rhe  gaze  ot  thos€ 
eouaprehensive  black  e3'^es. 

'*  Yes,"  th(5  child  answers  warily. 

"  1  have  come  from  a  friend  of  yours—Mrs.  Haag." 

"Yes?" 

"  1  wanted  to  see  you,  because  you  knew  a  person  once  m  whom 
1  am  greatly  interc^sted." 

"  What  person?" 

*'  Mrs.  Baxter.    Do  3''0U  remember  her?" 

"Yes." 

*'  Do  you  know  where  she  is  now?" 

"Bheisdead." 

My  heart  sinks.  The  child's  lace  I(X»ks  blank,  impassive,  stupid 
almost. 

"  You  are  quite  sure  she  is  dead?" 

"Oh,  quite  surel    Everybody  knows  she  is  dead." 

"  But  I  happen  to  know  that  she  is  alive." 

It  is  a  bold  stroke.  The  girl  looks  hard  at  me,  without  a  cbangj 
©f  countenance. 

'*  Nobody  knows  that,"  she  says  deliberately.  **  How  could  they 
know  it?" 

"  Because  w^hen  a  person  is  not  known  to  be  dead  it  is  generally 
taken  for  granted  that  he  or  she  is  alive." 

'•  But  doesn't  everybody  know  that  Mrs.  Baxter  is  dead?" 
-    "  Do  you  know  ii?" 

The  sudden  shai  p  question  seems  to  stagger  her. 

"  1  know  nothing  about  it,"  she  says,  after  a  moment. 

"  You  were  fo-nd  ot  her — were  you  not?"  The  bh;ck  eyes  glisten 
a  little— whether  v/itii  tears  or  not  1  cannot  say.  "  You  would  be 
glad  to  do  hei  a  service?" 

"  You  won't  bribe  me,"  the  girl  says  stoutly.  "  I  wouldn't  teJi 
you  anything,  even  if  1  knew." 

"  Has  anybody  ever  askwl  you  anytiiing  about  her?" 

"  No— never!    Vv'h}-  should  they  nsk  »ne?" 

'•  Because  vou  and  she  were  friends;  you  might  know  more  than 
ether  people. 

"  1  wasn't  there  when  it  happened,"  the  girl  says,  her  eyes  tr 
eling  to  the  wiiidovv,  and  resting  there. 

"  1  am  a  ware  of  that.  But  it  she  wanted  you,  she  knew  where 
to  find  you." 

The  black  eyes  come  hack  to  me  for  an  instant,  then  go  to  the 
window  again. 

"  Wliat  would  she  want  with  me?" 

"  You  mig.ht  be  able  to  help  hex.    What  is  your  name — ^youf 


POE    LIl'j:  LOVB.  1^ 

liOHio,  i;  ;  on  f.iKni  ivt  :in\  tuif,  vvu'LJun't   JOB   like  lO  GO  SOUao- 

ttiinjr  ili:it  vrould  benyfit  tiicm  rerv  {uucL?" 

^  ts  rminc]  the  jx-or  ro<;m,  leauin^  heavily  on  her  crutches. 

Bu  kew  no  auiiwer — dom  nol  a< tempt  lo  make  aoy  answer. 

"  i  a-ii  Lil}'  Baxier's  friend,  I  want  yovi  to  believe  thlit  " 
Tiie  child  turns  her  biack  bright  eyos  upon  me,  scriiiinizin^  me 
from  ht'ftd  lo  loot.  Leaning  on  one  crnlfni,  she  stretch»'8  oui  her 
h.ind,  anil  poliiy  sfrokes  tho  fur  on  my  jacket,  as  if  it  were  »  living 
thinsjT,  Hnd  could  feel  pleaaure  at  thetoucli.  Then  she  takes  hold  of 
my  dress. 

**  Lofiie,'*  1  exclaim  impatiently,  '*  you  are  keeping  me  waiting  all 

this  linio!    la  there  nothing  you  want — nothing  I  couid  do  for  you? 

1  orn  very  rich — I  have  a  ^eat  deal  of  money.  If  you  will  tell 
where  to  find  Lilv  Raxtei,  1  will  give  you" money —more  than 
ever  hud  in  your  life!" 

r  iR  an  tmgr;i(.etui  task  to  me  to  offer  bribes  to  the  litile  creature 
>se  loyal  y  1  cannot  help  ndmiring,  though  it  pu's  my  own  i>a- 
(re  to  so  severe  a  test.     I3ut  1  have  a  powerful  incentive,  a  dea- 

i>ir  ue  obj^xit  in  view— tJic  saving  of  a  life  which  is  more  dear  to  me 

a  tho.isanil  limrs  liitui  my  own. 
"Well.  Lottie ?" 

Suddenly,  >vi!lu)ut  any  preamble,  she  bursts  into  a  passion  of 
teurs. 

"  Go  awa_, ,     .  ..>  .m^1)s  vehemently — "  go  away  out  of  this!  I  don't 
ii  your  money —I  don't  wunt  you  here — 1  hate  the  sight  of  you!'* 
I  will  riot  go  Hway  till  you  tell  me  >>  here  Lily  Baxter  is  hiding," 
/.  with  detemiination,     "*  1  came  here  lo  find  out,  and  I  willuot 
iway  till  yojn  tell  me,  if  you  know." 
1  don't  know  " 
1  thinly  yon  do." 
i  tell  you  she  i«  dead." 

She  is  not  dead.     You  are  telling  a  falsehood,  Lottie.     1  don't 
-  '    '  ■"!  tier — it  she  knew  how  much  I  wanted  her,  she  would 
i>u  for  not  telling  me — vou  are  doing  her  harm  and  mis- 
very  wicked  falsehood  besides." 
.  e,  her  small  pale  face  very  troubled,  the  tears 
ou  her  long  eyelashes.     I  am  sorry  to  b  to 

iVon)  her;  but  there  is  no  ottier  war  to  he 

y  only  excuse." 

list  me,  Lottie.      1  ani   i,:iv    i>i.\;t'i   .-   iritm;. 

one  of  the  small  hard  hands  in  mine;  the  upwanl 
black    !•        '         '      '  nrdihoO'; 

.'  the  ill 

iH-r  ii  i  at  last. 

in  he:'  a 

lold  my  ur«uLh  in  an  agODj  of  sus- 

I  nic/»  face,"  she  ol/serves  > 

1  do  her  any  harm.  I  don't  ki,  ...    ..  ...^v  -.ii  r-  m-.i , 

1  me,  because  I  might  be  asked,  you  know — but  sko 


50  FOE    LIFE    AND    LOVE. 

**  Have  vou  no  idea  where  '^^''^  •'?*'  1  ask,  my  heart  sfeiklng  a  ;..» 
tie. 

"  1  know  where  you  coul.  '''  you  ^Yeat  thero  to-niErht. " 

"  "Where;/"        "  • 

The  i'lnlii  nanips  a  Iheater  uu kijovvn  lo  me. 

"  Bhe  d^icccs — m  the  ballet.     Shu  has  another  nair; 
1  don't  know  it — she  didn't  teil  me — and  «.he  looks  dii/t;ieiii- 
hair  issn't  red  now,  nor  bright.      She  comes  to  see  rnc."    oa.eti:. 
Oh,  1  hope  she  won't  be  anj^ry  with  me  for  telli:  ver 

foro-aye  me  tor  telhug  on  her,  what  bliouid  1  do?" 

'the  bliick  eyes  have  clouded  over  with  teiirs  agaiji.  it  burls  me 
that  I  have  wounded  the  child's  con&cience,  but  there  ■'' ■■-^  '^'^  ?  " '" 
for  it. 

*'  She  won't  be  tingvr  with  5'ou,  Lottie;  yor  have  don.r  iiev 
greatest  gerviee  you  ever  did  her  in  your  life.     Does  anybody-r-u 
your  fatJier— know?" 

"  Nobody  knows  it,  but  me."     Lotlie  nods  her  black  head. 

"  You  are  a  good  little  trieud.  i  wish  1  had  a  rrreat  many  like 
you." 

But  this  is  an  \mfortunate  speech,  and  adds  bitterness  to  the  sobs 
which  threaten  lo  dt^lroy  the  equilibrium  of  the  poor  little  stunted 
figure  lejminji:  so  heavily  upoa  the  old  ^ell-polii^hed  crutches 

*'  Don't  cry,  Louie!'  1  am  going  to  he  your  friend  too.  Tell  me 
"what  I  can  do  for  you.  1  must  h\irry  away  n6w;  but  i  will  come 
again  soon;  1  wou't  forget  you.      Would  vou  like  that?" 

1  hold  out  a  sovereign  on  the  palm  oi  my  glove.  The  black  eye* 
gliUer. 

"  Will  you  give  me  that?" — Sfcaaning  my  face  cn.Terfv. 

"It  is  for  you." 

She  puts  out  her  hand  and  seJaos  it  greedily, -.„  ... 

thsmks.     1  am  disappomted — aad  yet   vrhat  else  could  1  have  ex- 
T>  T'ted  to  find  in  Frigate  Lane? 

"  What  will  you  do  with  it?" 

"  We  owe  so  mnch  rent,"  the  child  says,  her- voice  j^mKing  sadl3^ 
■"  Father  doesn't  bring  in  an}' money — " 

"  "^^"ho  then  keeps  the  house,  Lottie?" 

"  1  and  Gretchen  and  Elsie,     Oh,  we  kepp  it  xery  But  the 

rent  seems  to  collect  so  last,  do  what  we  will." 

"  And  what  do  you  do?"  I  ask,  looking  dovi-n  at  the  brave  little 
creature. 

"1  make  match-boxes.  1  don't  get  much  for  them.;  but  it  is 
something.  'And  1  can  make  a  great  many  in  the  long  days;  but 
not  s*)  many  now." 

1  make  my  way  «k>wn  the  filtliy  staircase  again,  detennined  on 
one  thing.  1  will  make  a  friend  of  Lottie  Rtifl.  1  do  not  think  she 
is  lavish  of  her  friendships;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  f 
feather  in  my  cap  if  1  might  e.dl  her  my  friend. 

It  is  growing  dark  and  raining  heavily;    the  cabm: 
wrapped  up  in  an  oilskin  cspe  on  (lie  box  of  his  vehicle,  too  sur;. 
take  any  notice  of  me  beyond  moving  on  when  h*'  (  ;,';^;;m'«..s  il, 
have  had  time  to  bestow  mye*'if  inside.     J.  k 
shabby  cushion,  drawing  a  long  breath.    Cap  i' 
Lily  Baxter  at  last?    It  seems  too  stran^ic 


FOR    LIFi: 


81 


ler 


Ot  It ; 

■.r\i 

tlie  ; 

It  s 

,; 

Koi 


ndon.  qaite  doi-e  to  us,  rw,  one  7n:vy  say,  all  ibis  time 

u  huiiliii^  the  counfrr  for  bcr  tar  aud  wide.     Aly 

1  a  ynaL  ^low  ot  triumph.     I  am  jihid  it  wan  1  ivljo 

,u  tjoi^  jiiMKhx.'!'— 1  am  g\%d  ihat  it  i«  to  me  Gerard  Bax- 

ui*  lUniriy,  HiDce  it   vftB  thiough  me — or  so  1  have  al- 

uat  he  sunk  to  so  lovr  a  dppth  of  mivsery.     1  wonder,  im- 

.'iHt  Jiouald  Scott  wiil  n».y.     i  am.  g.oiiig  stmiglit  to  him 

A  Uim  my  wondeiful  news.     He  will  disbelieve  me  at  first, 

-not  me.   hot  my  iuformsnta.     He  never  was  sanguine, 

of   the  pi-oceedingR.     But   we  can   prove   the 

.:,  s  *itt}ry ;  for  my  o's^n  part  1  believe  ever\'  woit 

I  jeQ  i  am  only  a  woman,  and  not  an  Indian  judge. 

.    drive  lip  to  the  door  ot  the  hotel,  the   windows  ;v.o  «., 

:  t-m  are  crossing  tlie  great  hall  in  every  direction.     1  tell 

!o  wait  lor  me,  and.  getting  out,  a.sk  one  of  the  waiters 

!  Scott  is  in  his  rooms.  The  man  stares  at  me  dubiously. 

hear  me?"  I  exclaim  impatiently.     "  1  wish  to  see  Sir 

"  is  at  his  dinner." 
iiim.     Here  is  ray  card." 
■:..  1  akes  the  card  and  stares  at  it,  but  makes  no  attempt  to 


Tiu 


IM  il'c 
);\v»'  (• 
iriv  (>-.\ 


Tiic  :k 
Jtir. 
"  If  you  call  acain  in  an  hour — "  he  begins. 
"  '^■'■■-   '-i{  card  to  Sir  Ronald  Scott  tins  iustanti*' 
e  refuses  to  see  anybody  at  this  hour—" 
refuse  to  see  me." 

^  8wnv  leisurely— I  fancy  he  axchanges  a  glance  of 
with  some  of  his  fellows  in  the  hall.    While 
hue  of  liie  gaslight,  1  feel  very  much  **  out 
*  very  iouely,  vciy  desolate  even,  though  1  know  that  1 
fiece  of  my  own  free  will,  and  on  another's  business,  aot 
'iut  the  sea<fe  of  loneliness  and  isolation  is  new  to  me  and 
''^vv'ryliady  else,  seems  at  home,   busy,  preoccupied, 
king  out  at  the  pareengers  hurrying  alf)ng  the  wet 
icnt,  jvt  the  caiTUiges  driving  past  with  their  bright 
rnuflled  occiipjinls,  at  the  ever-changing  panorama 

1>.    .  ■'.  t(»»5ling  strangely  odd  and  soiiiary,  and  as 

f  *  :ind  had  nobody  belonging  lo  me, 

.ug  very  long  in  reality  bci'ore  Konald  himself 

n  the  staircase  in  full  evening  dress,  and  \\Hh 

uot  to  say  angiy  face.     But  1  do  not  care  about  the 

J,  am  so  glad  to  see  him.     If  it  had  not  been  for  «!.(> 

•I  sure  I  should  have  thrown  m3>ielf  into  his  am, 

you  need  not  look  frightene<l — there  is  nothing  tin.  «.  »■- 

lif'T.  only  thai  1  wanted   lo  ttil  you   about — about — that 


.  ,  u  went  down  to  Woodhny  to-day,  Rosalie." 

^  •'  >  go  (town;  bnt  1  found  1  could  not  leave  town." 

,  ought  to  go  home,  dear.     Will  you  let  me  take  yott 

■   RtreH  now— at  once?"                     ' 
But  your  dinner,  Ronald — " 
It,    i»;    r',1    I      ti'>r   M'jnni.    HIV    diinit->r  " — siri*'  •    yoy 


FOE    1,    .        •  >-D    LOYii. 

,.  „.  not  to  do  f  liese  things,  to  be  out  alono  at  this  boirr.     1  car 
hv.e  yuii  do  it;  1  am  very  imgry  "witli  you." 

"  But,. Ronald,"  1  exclaim,  eagtily,  **  1  have  a  \. ,.-.,.. 
to  tdl  you!    1  have—" 

Tiie'hall  is  crowded  with  waiters,  coming  and  gomg. 

*'  1  will  drive  back   with  you  to  CurleUm  Street,," 
peremptt<rily,  and  puts  me  into  the  cab.     Then  -     ■ 
and  overcoat,  and  in  three  minults  is  siUiiig  Oj 
we  drive  slowly  through  the  crowded  noisy  lamplil  sUcc..:. 

"  Ronaid,  I  ha':^e  loimd  LiJy  Baxter." 

"Found  her. 

"  Til?,?  is,  I  h..., ..   ..  ;:eve  to  find  her." 

"0.','   Ronald  says,  less"  excitedly,   "that   is  a  very  di2erenl 

"  0..  >na]d  I  am  sure  we  have  foiuid  her  tliis  A.nc 

then  i  proce'/d  lo  tell  him  wy  adventiuee,  to  which  '  ■  s   witl 

an  exceedingly  arave  face.     And  when  1  have  fini  lead  ol 

commend inij  me,  he  mere!y  says— 

•*  riosalie,  you  must  promise  me  never  to  do  such  a  thing  as  ; 
again." 

"  Oh,  Ronald,  don't  worry  about  me;  I'm  all  righ"^" 

"  Ko,  you  are  all  wrong,"  he  says,  and  then  and 

lecture  the  like  of  whiciri,  AlHc'Soaiers  Scott  ot    .-.. ,  .,-.. 

certainly  never  recyivetl  before  in  my  life,  because  theie  was  uobodj 
who  would  dare  to  give  it  to  me. 

Ann  all  the  lime'tiiat  he  is  scolding  me— if  £uch  srave  disap 
balion  of  niy  conduct  c&u  be  called  «co]ding—l  '  "    '      '■ 

ing  how  nice  he  looks,  how  brave  and  slei'n  t. 
p'.'it-.ujt  it  would  be  for  a  woman  to  have  sv: 
i^coit  to  take  care  of  her  alwaj's,  and  to  see  t; 
proper  and  right.     And  I  supposjc  my  thoughts  ur«  wrili'in  in 
|acR,  ior  sudBer'"    2'.^nr,Ll,  who  is  looking  sir.:!  It  ii-1  •  LiV  t 
smiles  a  little. 

*'  1  am  arraid  _>uu  c;il  ;"/i  listening  to  me,  ^..-.^......^ 

"  1  am  thinking  that  it  is  rather  nice  to  have  you  .'r  isl' 

Ilonnla." 

"  B;;t  1  want  you  to  think  of  tie  scolding,  no! 

"  It  yoii  want  me  to  say  that  I  am  sorry  for  •;'. . 
i  must  tell  you  that  I  am  not  sorry,  but  glad— glad 
Jiave  been  able  to  do  so  mi-ch." 

*'  But  you  could  have  done  it  as  well  with 

"  I  am  not  sure  about  that." 

"  But  I  am  pure  ot  it." 

"•■  And  now,  Ronald,  1  want  you  to  tak  '  tc 

"  '"^'  v'n'y  JviU  not  do,  Rosalie." 

*•  Then  i  must  go  alone." 

"  You  :-.hit!l  not  go  alone,  or  at  all.     It  is  T\r 
go  to— it  in  one  of  the  la&t  places  in  London  iii 

to  fice  you,  or  nny  one  belonging  lo  me." 

"  1(.  If.  not  a  child  ov-,\  b.iby'" 


FOL    LIFE    AND    LOVE.  83 

Ircrtflf  (i1  phv  ^    tbinklng  of  Ger 


a  vvue. 
It  is  not  fit 


**  But  1  must  find  her— -t^nd  there  seems  to  be  no  olber  way. " 
"  1  will  &ea!l  a  (ietecti-"^  <*'  >f'>  tr._.,^,n..r,.>x.  " 
'  But  to  iiioirow— " 

"  it  aJjie  is  llicrc  to  nivi;.Ji,  hu-,;  v.  ui  d--.-  Ui<;.':,-  lo-ifiu;  . 
"  But  if  th-'v  triaht(:n  ker  avi'ay,  Koaald?" 

■   '.i,  il  you  wifth,"  RonaL-. 
jg  to  hear  Albani,  1  and  : 
m  bill,  i I  ii  vvill  make  your  mind  e&sy,  i  .u-^-t;  my 

CO  )  lo  itiis  place  instead." 

■  Dear  iiou.ild,  if  j'ou  would!" 
■'  Then  1  v^ili,"  he  sa\'s,  smiling  airnin. 
"  DeAT  rousin,  how  sUall  I  thank  you?" 
"7^^-  •"):  thankin.i!*  me  at  all,  Rosalie." 

s  oat  oi  ilie  vrindow,  as  il  he  harl  ne  ll.alited 

uciorQ,  while  I  look  at  his  grave  profile  ana  ^ .  Li^dcr  it  ho 

iHo  a  niii^cniliie  spoil-sport.     1  have  spoiled  his  pleasant  cveu- 

iag,  aL  ail  evt^ni^;.     1  haji  nure  Ik;  hates  the  idea  of  j:c«jng  to  this  low 

fourilj  or  fihh  r.'ile  theaJer  at  the  other  side  of  tlie  cit". 

'  Do  you  think  you  will  rtK-ognize  her,  Ronald?'' 

'*!  SM;ir>o-('  I  pli;;]'.  froili  iiUi  d(  .-.i-lintliiii   voii    i::r  ;,nJ 


'■  is  immrvabte,  and  I  do  not  presrt  the  point, - 
:  ou  say  bl^.e  ha.s  chimged  the  co'or  of  her  hairV 
*  Yep— dyed  it,  X  suppose.     It  wiil  alter  her  apT  :ood 

d." 

'  S:»  1  shouM  suppose." 
F'""  ■  ;i;  !i    ■    ;  ■  :  till  we  reach  Carleton  Street. 

■  i',! '.i  I  ;;■ '     '  yourself  intliose  outlandish  places,  FoDald."  1  f^avr 
!h  rather  tardy  concern,  ag  he  wishes  me  good-ni; 

"  Do  not  l>e  inieasy."  he  ianghs  carelessly.     *' 1  h 
:iy  cross  road^s  not  to  be  able  to  take  care  of  luVsc 

■  \  ,.A  ^  K.,^  ^ijj  yQ^  jy^  mQ  know?  ' 

•rro?/.     You  are  going  horti 

:tL  li-iii  I  depend  upon  what  you  fiiid  0';i  lo  i; 
^u  !TUT--.i  f'ohonie,  liosalie.  Isiiallgo  down  Wi  .  od- 

11  mu»t  ftrsl  brln«;Gerar(' 
■s  H  liiii'.',  lurnimr  his  nojid  a\vay.     1 1 
he  din.!  liviit  of  tbe  t;a«ijet..  bvilfoport 
1  coat,  1'  '  his  hand.     Tl; 

'^^  •  '  •  ..;  of  mine,  someUi...,- V ......... 

\enda  itself  to  ray  careless  fancy  >  it 

•' Goo(l-idL'!i!."  ' 

nor, 


84  FOE    LIFE    AKD    LOVE. 

whirl  of  suspense  and  dread  of  1  knjow  n&t  what.  A  tlionsftTid 
nameless  terrors  and  conjectures  flit  tlirough  my  brain.  What  if  Lily 
Baxter  skouid  escape  us  at  this  last  moment!  What  if  that  child  has 
outMritted  lue — put  us  on  a  wrong  scent,  altogether?  But  over  and 
above  all  is  the  glad  triumphant  consciousness,  the  hope  that  will 
not  be  put  down,  that  to-nabrrow,  through  my  instrumentality,  Ger- 
ard Baxter  may  be  free. 

CHAPTEK  XIII. 

**  Well,  Eonald?"   . 

I  have  started  up  to  meet  him,  the  terrible  suspense  of  the  night 
and  mornmg  showing  itself  in  my  white  face  and  shaking  limbs, 

"  1  have  found  her,  Rosalie." 

1  cover  my  eyes  with  my  Lands  in  a  passion  of  thankfulness. 

"Ami  Gerard  Baxter?" 

*•  Tnis  evening  Gerard  Baxter  will  be  at  liberty.'* 

"He  does  notku  o  w  y  et  V  " 

"  !1N  o  "—curtly. 

1  stand  by  the  table,  leaning  my  hand  upon  it,  Ronald  Scott  oppo- 
«ite  to  me,  watching  my  face  with  curious  intentness. 

*'  Did  you  recognize  her  at  once?" 

"  No,  not  at  once.  But  1  saw^  her  afterward— coming  out  of  the 
theater;  and  then  1  recognized  her." 

"  Did  5'^ou  speak  to  her  then?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Was  she  frightened?" 

"  Not  in  the  very  least." 

"  But  did  she  intend  to  let  him  die,  Ronald?" 

"  No.     At  least,  she  fjays  so  now." 

"  And  you  believe  her?" 

"  She  is  nothing  but  a  foolish,  giddy  child.  1  am  only  surprised 
tnat  she  was  clever  enough  to  baffle  ua  all  as  she  did.  She  intended 
to  punish  him,  she  said.  He  had  su.«pecled  her  of  horrid  things, 
and  s-he  meant  to  be  even  with  him.  Slie  ne^er  meant  to  let  tiie 
trial  come  on — so  she  said.  She  pretended  to  know  nothing  abotit  her 
husband  at  first — not  even  that  he  had  been  suspected  of  making 
away  with  her;  but  1  soon  letker  see  that  she  could  not  make  a  fool 
of  me." 

"  And  she  allowed  him  to  lie  in  prison  all  this  time,  knowing — " 

"  She  seemed  to  think  it  rather  a  good  joke,"  Ronald  says,  shrug- 
^4ng  his  shoulders.  "  1  tell  3^011  she  has  scarce!}'' any  notion  of  right 
or  wrong — she  looks  a  mere  child,  and  a  more  ignorant  uneducated 
utterly  thoughXlcss  child  there  could  scarcely  be.  1  never  saw  such 
hardiiiood  in  my  life — the  idea  of  the  body  that  was  found  having 
T/een  identified  as  her  body  seems  to  have  been  the  greatest  source  of 
amusement  to  her — she  could  not  speak  of  it  without  laughing." 

"  Did  her  mother  know?"  . 

*'  She  knows  nothino;  about  her  mother.  I  believe  she  dislikes  the 
woman  exccnsively — and  one  can  scarcely  wonder  at  it." 

"  She  is  vcr7  pretty,  is  &he  not?"  1  ask,  hesitatingly. 

"  She  hcz  a  most  beautiful  face." 

"You  ackniceher?" 


FOR    LIFE    AJTD    LOVB.  85 

'*  Ko  man  can  look  at  her  wUhotit  aflrairiiig  her. " 

If  ^  si'jh,  Ronald  Scott  doa*  not  hear  ma 

•'  \\  'vM  will  you  do  about  Gerard  i'lirtrr?"  1  inquire,  after  a  p«use. 

"  1  am  goini;  for  tlu?  girl  now,  t<  r  before  the  authorities." 

"  It  she  sliould  have  run  away,  i  ' 

"  ily  dear  Kosalie.  you  must  think  me  a  very  simple  person!    I 
took  care  to  put  the  house  ^here  she*  lodges  under  the  surveillance 
of  tJie  police.     But  1  do  not  think  she  has  any  intention  oi  running 
way." 

•'Did  she  winder  how  you  discovered  her?" 

"  She  did  aot  ask  me  any  questions,  and  1  \   ' 
lation;  1  think,  myself,  she  was  rather  suipr. 
'und  her  belore." 

"  Can  slie  be  punished  in  any  wayT" 

"  1  think  not.  She  is  so  young,  you  know;  and  she  will  say  she 
.new  nothing  about  her  husi>and's  delentkni  in  prison." 

"  Ronald^"  1  ask,  in  the  same  hesitatmg  way  in  whieJi  I  hjtd  asked 
another  question,  "  do  you  think  she  cares  at  all  for  him?" 

"  I  am  sure  she  does." 

Ido  not  know  whether  the  answer  pleases  me  or  displeases  me; 
but  1  put  my  hand  to  my  heart. 

"Go!"    1  exclaim  hurrieilly.     "Don't  lose  any  more  precious 
jie;  and,  when  Gerard  Baxt^ir  is  at  liboty,  send  him  here  to  me." 

Ronald's  face  darkens;  but  he  merely  snys — 

**And  YOU  will  allow  me  to  take  you  down  to  "Woodhav  this  even- 
ing, Rosalie?" 

"  When  I  have  seen  him." 

He  goes  away  then;  and,  for  the  next  hour  and  a-half,  1  walk  up 
and  down  the  room  in  unoontroilable  excitement,     1  cannot  sit  still 
— every  sound  startles  me,  every  passing  cab  draws  me  to  the  win- 
dow, every  voice  down-stairs  causes  my  heart  to  beat  so  lun'   ' 
nously  tliat  1  wonder  how  it  can  bear  the  strain.     Twenty  ti;, 

ok  at  my  watch— how   slow  the  minute?  drag! — it  is  not  out 

dock  -^vt:  riTui  vet  1  feel  that  1  have  endured  an  eternity  of  s«s- 
Y'  {  Scott  left  the  house  at  eleven.  The  cool,  autum- 

ti  .  Li  into  the  room,  creeps  across  the  colorlejss  carjiet, 

s  on  tlie  familiar  pictures,  on  the  faded  table-cloth,  on  the  silver 
vidsps  ot  my  fur  cloak  as  it  hangs  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  on  the 
dead  dry  griusesin  the  vases  on  the  mantel-piece.  How  weary  1  am 
~f  them  all,  how  1  hate  the  «ight  of  thtnai,  and  of  '      *'v 

ce  in  the  glass!    1  see  it  every  tmie  1  turn  fa  my  :  i 

id  fro— a  white  fact:*,  with  dark  shadows 

'*h  contracted  brows,  with  ptde  trrmbli^^ 
never  smile  agtiin.     Can  thi 
-the  girl  who  used  to  lauj^h, 

.  who  used   to  sing  "  In   my  CbaMau  ot   ,  I 

■V  Lee  "  in  such  a  gay  rollicking  vrnce,  who  u. . ..  „. 
uook-chair,  eating  almonds  nnd   raifiins  and    ( 
,i.ir.-  wi   a  boy  upstairs  painting  away  in  a  shabby  velref^i  u  -  wi, 

lio  had  thought  h  sucJi  a  terrible  tiling  to  hicve  been  fownd  out  in 

e  unsolicited  gift  of  a  bunch  of  violets?    1  can  st        ^     •    '■        •■. 

y  own  idontity  when  1  look  at  Uiat  ghostly  fa( 

ow  more  ghostly  with  ^t^j  loud  moootonous  tick  ol  the  oki 


Sb  rOE    LIFE    AND    LOVE. 

.ick  en  t1)ri  landing,  vHtb  cvciy  ^:^p  that  passes  by  the  door — tliat 
passes  and  d^fs  not  come  in. 

Another  hour  pfisses— two  hours.  Mrs.  Wanchope  comes  up  witli 
my  Juocbeon,  and  carries  it  away  again  imtas'ted;  a  telegram  arrives 
from  Uncle  Tod  to  say  that  the  carriage  has  been  sent  to  meet  me; 
but  the  carrin^e  may  go  back  again,  for  1  am  late  tor  that  train  al- 
rqady.  1  am  beginning  to  teel  that  I  cannot  bear  this  terrible  strain 
on  brain  ana  heart  any  longer,  when  the  door  opens,  quickly,  is 
quickly  closed  again,  and  1  turn  round,  to  find  Gerard  Baxter  stand- 
ing just  in-uile  the  room,  looking  at  me. 

With  a  low  exclamation,  1  hold  out  both  ray  hands.  He  starts 
fonA^ard,  and,  seizmg  them,  falls  upon  his  knees  at  my  teet. 

For  a  moment  neither  of  us  speaks.  He  has  buried  his  face  in  my 
dress  and  is  Bobbing  heavily,  while  I  hold  both  his  hands  in  a  close 
hai'd  grasp,  shivering  as  it  t  had  the  ague. 

*'  Gerard,"  1  say  at  last—"  Gerard." 

Still  he  sobs  on,  like  a  heartbroken  child  who  has  wearied  himself 
out  with  sobbing. 

"  Gemrd,  you  are  killing  me.  It  is  all  ovei  now,  dear;  you  must 
not  give  way,  for  both  our  sakes!" 

He  raises  his  tear-swollen  face— that  face  which  apcms  to  me  but 
the  ghost  of  its  former  self,  so  gaunt,  so  haggard  is  it. 

*'  You  have  saved  my  life— 1  would  thank  you  for  it,  if  1  could 
speak;  but  I  cannot  speak!" 

**  Do  not  trj^  to  thank  me,  dear,"  1  say,  with  stiff  lips  that  almost 
refuse  to  forru  (he  words.  "  It  was  all  my  fault — I  know  it;  but  it 
is  lul  ove"  now." 

He  looks  up  at  me  with  drowned  eyes,  with  piteous  lips  that 
tremble  like  my  own. 

'*  And  1  do  not  care  to  live.  It  would  have  been  better  f6r  me  if 
1  had  died." 

"  But  you  must  care  to  live.     "Why  should  yon  not  care  to  live, 
■^JeTard?    The  world  is  before  you — you  are  young;    it  is  only  cow 
ards  whoTsish  to  die!" 

He  makes  no  answer,  but  kneels  there  looking  up  at  me,  his 
cheeks  wet  with  tears;  and,  though  i  spf-ok  so  brsiyely,  1  myself  am 
trembling  exceedingly;  my  hands  are  as  cold  as  ice,  though  my 
cliceks  burn. 

"You  shall  go  to  Italy,  Gerard;   you  shall  study  in  Rome  ar 
I'lorence;  you  shall  make  a  name  for  yourself  and  do  me  credit—  . 
who  am  j^our  friend." 

His  haggaid  young  face  brightens  a  little,  but  only  a  very  little. 

*  It  could  not  be  done.     I  am  a  beggai'  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Ulie— twice  lieggared  kow.  ' 

*'  But  i  am  rich— you  forget  that!" 

He  siiakcfe'  hLs  head,  with  tlte  old  ohstinate  gesture. 

"  But  listen.  "When  you  are  a  great  artist,  you  shail  pay  me  back 
— with  interest,  if  j'ou  like." 

He  smiles  faintly  at  that;  we  both  smile,  he  looking  u)p  and  I 
looking  down. 

**  But  thai  wretched  child!"  he  says,  at  last. 

'*  1  will  take  care  of  her  for  yeu,  Gerard." 

"Toul" 


rGK    Lire    AND    LOVE.  87 

"  Yes.     Miu  siiuli  live  with  me  at  Woodhay  while  you  areolar. " 

"  T.'ish  yo:i,  Allie?" 

"  "With  me.  AucI,  wheu  you  have  grown  rirb,  yon  shall  come  for 
ferr — in  I  wo  or  tlnce  years  perhnjw,  it  you  work  v(  ry  hard." 

UediUidcJerH,  siili  kneeling  beside  me,  still  holding  both  my  hands 
ag:iins-t  hisbrijjist. 

"  I.Iave  you  lorsriven  me,  Allie?" 

"  Eulireiy.     1  wiUi  1  could  as  easily  forgive  myself." 

Ho  bendiB  hixS  head  and  kisses  my  hands  passionately  one  after  the 
other, 

*'  flow  can  you  tell  rae  to  lire— 1  who  have  lost  the  only  thing 
worth  living  for  in  the  world?" 

Lookiu^^  down  into  the  boyish  careworn  face,  remetnbering  all  his 
•  for  me.  all  that  he  has  suffered  through  that  love,  a  great  flood 

jtitv  feurgcft  thioiigh  my  heart. 

'Tvly  poor  boy,"  1  say,  smoothmg  the  dark  hair  back  from  his 
loi'ehcad — "  my  poor  boyl" 

"  Can  yeu  care  ior  me  still,  Allie — a  miserable  wretch  like  me?" 

"  1  shall  (iare  tor  you  always,  Gerard — always!" 

■  As  you  cared  for  me  once,  Allie?" 

For  a  moment  1  hesitate,  with  the  hungry  hoi!0".v  dark  eyes  de- 
vouring rn}'  face. 

'  As  1  might  cnre  for  a  dear  brother,  it  1  had  ene,  Gerard." 
le  standB  up.  Hinging  away  my  hand. 

■  Ih  that  all?' 
That  must  be  all." 

And  you  can  mote  out  your  affection  to  such  a  nicety  as  thai?" 
I  hope  so — with  the  help  of  Heaven!" 

1  c»tmot!"  he  exclaims  roughly.     "  1  have  not  my  feeVin^fS  so 
■    ''  ' -r  control— 1  cannot  love  you  like  a  lover  one  day, 

or  the  nextl" 
v»  e  liJii  iievcr  be  anything  but  friends,  Gerard;  but  1  shall  ;  ' 
s  be  yonr  friend — }our  best  of  friends," 

be  your  lover,"  he  says  passionately — " your  lo"\{   , 

You  may  tiiink  po  now,"  1  answer  quietly,  but  my  heart  rebels 
■?v;t  ti...  bitter  tnte  that  has  divided  uj». 

it;  and  1  glory  in  the  knowledge.     I  love  you  with  ray 
....  J      .  }_}^^^  J  shall  never  lovccin}^  o'her  woman.    And 
r  that  1  do  not  greaily  cjire  to  live?" 

^  'ting  my  hand  to  rpy  forehcf^d 

;.ve  wearied  yoii — you  look  lii?eji  he  ex- 

.  tj'nce  as  passionate  sis  his  anuer  n  a  mo- 

1  will  go  away — i  will  do  anything  you  ask  me. 

rvv  darling,  you  do  uof   know  il.»^ungui&h  '■*  '^     > 

day!" 

•y  from  me;  i..i .,,  ..  ,.  ^.,^.n  w,  ...lor  misers 
;n  the  wild  dark  eyes.     I  am  afraid  of 
^     ^me  def^perate  thing,  perhaps,  in  I  " 
lie,  you  will  promise  to  do  what  i 

You  w  O'-".^-^  O'uce — to  Italy — to  Ro:  u  will  start 


88  FOR    LIFE    AND    LOYE. 

to-morrow— 1  'will  give  you  a  chock  on  my  banker's— (o  be 
when  you  come  back.  Gerard,  you  have  brought  suffering  u>).  n  me 
too — you  ov/e  it  to  me  to  make  this  reparation — it  is  ail  1  ask  of  you 
— oi  will  ever  ask  perhaDS.     And  you  ovre  it  to  your  wile." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  her.''* 

"  But  1  must  speak  of  her.     The  child  1ot€S  you,  Gerard." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  her. " 

*'  Yes,  unless  you  prove  yourself  worthy  of  h«r  love.*' 

"  Of  her  love,  AUie?" 

"  It  is  the  only  love  that  can  rightly  belong  to  you  now.  Aiid  it  is 
a  precious  gitt,  Gerard— even  the  love  of  a  child." 

He  turns  away  impatiently. 

"  Gerard,  vrill  you  do  this— tor  my  sake?" 

"  If  you  asked  me  to  lay  down  my  life  for  you,  Allie,  1  wotiid  do 
it." 

"  And  you  will  go  at  once?" 

"  As  soon  as  you  like     1  do  not  care  what  becomes  of  me." 

"  De^  Gerard,  do  not  speak  like  that.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  hear 
you." 

"'My  heart  is  broken,"  he  says,  letting:  his  head  sink  upon  his 
rjreast. 

'*  1  hope  not,"  1  answer,  with  a  poor  attempt  al  a  smile.  And  thjpn 
1  fill  in  the  check  for  him  with  a  hand  that  sliakes  a  good  deal — a 
check  for  a  hundred  pounds.     "  You  may  write  to  me  from  Ita! 
And  I  will  write  to  you — to  tell  you  about  jout  wife," 

He  kisses  my  hand  passionately,  looks  at  my  face  with  eyes  which 
seem  as  if  thej'  were  trying  to  take  away  a  memory  which  must  last 
them  through  eternity,  and  then,  without  another  word,  he  goes 
away. 

And  I  throw  mj'self  face  downward  on  Mrs.  Wauchope'Q  drab 
moreeji  sofa  and  cry  for  two  long  hours  as  if  my  heart  would  break. 


We  are  rushing  along  through  the  darkness,  my  cousin  Ronald 
Scott  and  1,  as  fast  as  the  express  train  can  carry  us.  Ronald  is 
leaning  back  against  the  cushions  opposite  to  lue,  his  tweed  cap 
pulled  well  dovsTi  over  his  eyes.  1  am  sure  he  is  not  asleep,  though 
he  sits  there  so  quietly ;  but  1  see  his  eyes  in  the  shadow — the  lamp 
over  our  heads  gives  such  a  miserable  glimmer  of  light.  "We  have 
been  traveling  for  nearly  two  hours  now— in  another  hour  we  shall 
have  readied  the  nearest  rail  way -station  to  Yattenden,  where  the 
carriage  from  Woodhay  will  be  waiting  for  us.  T^e  have  scarcely 
addressed  each  otiier  during  the  whole  of  thoste  two  hours.  Ronald 
does  not  seem  inclined  to  talk,  and  1  feel  too  wretched  to  do  anything 
but  brood  over  my  misery,  staring  into  the  darkness  with  wide-open 
miserable  eyes. 

"  Are  you  very  tired,  Rosalie?" 

Ronald's  voice  startles  me,  the  silence  between  us  has  lasted  so 
long. 

"Rather.    Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  1  thought  you  looked  tired." 

"  Have  3M3U  been  studying  my  face?":::;ajittle  querulously. 


FOR    LliTE    AND    LOVE.  89 

One  cannot  very  \rell  help  seeing  '^hat  is  strais;ht  before  one." 
•'  I  t^        "     our  eyes  were  sbut,"  1  ^ay,  reniemlfjfirinf^  how  1  had 
«itiuii»»'i  was  visible  ot  his  calm  gravn  i'ace  a  while  ago,  A\oa- 

uQ  thought  of  me. 
veie  not  bhut.     What  were  you  trying  to  find  out  just 

V  t '  ■ 

Whcnr"  1  ask,  thougjh  1  knovr  very  well. 

When  you  did  me  the  honor  to  consider  me  ao  intently." 

1  wa.s  trj'ing  to  find  out  what  you  thought  ot  me,  Ilonald.'* 
'  And  did  you  find  out?" 

"  Not  much.     You  have  one  of  tho.?e  faces  which  1  cannot  read." 
' '  Then  I  have  the  advantage  ot  you  there." 
"  Can  you  read  ray  taoe?" 
'*  Very  ohen  1  ran,"  he  answers,  smiling  a  little. 

Youl'.HVe  an  interesting  otudy,  then  " — shrugging  my  shmdders. 

I  think  I  have.     Pwosaiie,  would  you  like  to  know  what  I  think 

•our' 

1  know  you  think  me  very  foolish." 
'  Then  you  do  not  want  to  know?" 

'  Yo^i  could  not  tell  me  anything  pleasant  " — with  a  rather  forced 
i:rb.     "  I  wish  we  v/ere  at  Yatteuden,  lionald;  don't  you?" 
■  1  do,  foi  your  sake.    Rosalie,  are  you  to  see  that  fellow  Baxter 

The  naiiie  sends  a  shiver  through  my  veins.  2\.nd  yet  it  is  for  ever 

-'■^   ■ '  rars. 

do  you  ask?" 

I)  hefU"  it,"  he  says,  without  answering  my  question. 

■a  glad?" 

s  neither  good  for  you  nor  for  him." 

agry  if  Rouald  did  not  iook  so  grave,  did  not  speak 
in  s:  r  of -fact,  fatherly  way. 

to  Italy,"  1  say,  in  r"\ther  a  subdued  •'"^*  •" 

..7u  taken  charge  of  his  wife." 

:r»resses  neither  approval  nor  disapproval.     1  wonder  U 
-it  he  (thinks  that  I  am  brr-ak  in  g  m}' heart  about  a 
iccounts  could  not  have  cared  very  much  for  me?    I 
1,  like  a  coward,  refused  to  let  him  tell  me  what  he 
...  jiist  now.     But  I  had  shrunk  fr<m\  another  lecture, 
<.!  foily  and  wickedness  ol  my  undisciplined  heart. 
,  you  have  redeemed  yxjnir  promise  nool}'","  Isay,  stretch- 
liaud  to  him  in  my  old  impulsive  fashion.     "  You  have 
'    a  me;  you  have  borne  with  rne  very  pn*'"'"      ''^ 
of  me.  if  you  can  help  it," 
..aid  out  ot  the  shadow  to  lake  my  band. 
.?t*^  must  be  dirfcte^l  the  other  way,  Rosjilie,'*  he  nn- 
■swers  <  ookiiig  at  me  with  brov/n  eyes,  which  for  one 

'■'^'^  i"  But  I  shake  my  heail.  laughing  a  little. 

1  love  yoii  ntore  than  jo"u  do  uiu!'  "  1  quote,  draw- 
•  rather  (|uk;k'-' 
num>  til!  th 
1  Lhedarknu^ 


90  roa  life  aisd 

IVr  Yattend  ' 

they  Liic  ;Ui  M'c::,  ijul  vcryuneiisy  uccau: 
the  earlier  train. 


CfTAPTER  XIV. 
joll3^  little  tellow,  Olive?" 


Olive  _G;laacoH  at  the  clier Lib- faced  boy  on  my  lap,  whojr 
been  smothering  with  kisses. 

*'  He  m  a  line^cliild,  ceilainly." 

'*  A  vine  (iiilcl!"  1  exclaim  vrith  It'.ughin!.',  inc.i^-^iM.'-jn. 
sppak  of  him  as  if  he  weie  some  youug  creature  w-iom  you  v. 
fattening"  tor  a  prize." 

Olive  glances  at  ua  from  her  low  chp.ir  inside  ' 
sitting  on  the  slops  just  outsi'le,  holding  the  sturdy,  Ivvuv 
in  ray  ai  ms.     September  siinBhine  makes  glorious  the  r" 
of  my  old  house,  rising  shiirply  defined  against  the  serene  b. 
September  sumyhuio  dreams  on  the  smooth  terrace,  on  ihefrini  .. 
and  careful  flower-beds  of  my  slieltered  garden,  just  as  it  drear. 
upon  thera  three  yeju's  ago,  when  my  sick  eyes  f»*  •'  ■■     '  •     •' 
them,  nor  in  ihe  sunshine,  nor  in  any  other  tuir  or  1 

"  You  will  spoil  him,  Aliie,"  Olive  says;  bat  a 
smiles  iadulgenily. 

'*  Spoil  him!  You  are  not  cnpable  of  being  spoiltd. 
Ton  take  atter  yom-  godmother,  my  fair  chUd!  As  it  , 
spoil  such  a  darling,  Olive!     Why,  the  nicest  thing  i  euu  v< 
him  wouldn't  be  half  nice  enough!" 

"  Not  half  nice  'nough!"  Scott  corroborates,  in  a  peri!' 
of  chucklas. 

"  You  delicious  little  mite!"  1  laugh  cneoaraginglv,  kie^ing 
rosebiid  mouth,  h1«  bloomy  cheeks,  his  dimpled  ewK  ^   -  . 

makes  vain  snatches  at  ray  hair,  at  my  ear-ri?v"«.  »^ 
with  his  chubby  dimpled'  {ists.     *'  Wh}',  C 
ahould  do  noiJiiug  bat  kiss  him  all  day  lon^i': 

"  I  wondcT  whnt  would  becomeof  ilyacioiha' 
thi  palish  geu(  I'aiiy,  if  I  made  sueii  a  >  oose  ct  :; 
demurely. 

1  take  gre;;.,  .  .  ....jt  in  spoiling  my  ,.,■,-■  .:^ 

is  s-uch  a  splendid  little  fe'ilow,  but  principal: 
ing  to  hear  Olive  prct&sting  against  ii.    She  h....-> : 

matter-of-fact  since  she  marfial  Mr.  Lockliarl! 
transformed  her  from  a  scatter-brained  girl  in»o  t" 
clem\ir3  matron  who  ever  pretended  not  to  adovc 
think  her  chiidrm  tlie  most  perfect  chijdreu  that 

"  I  v/onder  how  you  will  bring  up  your  ov«-n  r 
days,"  Olive  observes  in  her  precipe  voice,  gi. 
pinafore  she  is  embroidering. 

"  I  shall  never  have  any  children  to  bring  u:  a  rich 

old  spinster,  and  Scott  shall  be  my  adopted  su...  ,,;   .  .  ,  -  1  len^^ 
Woodhay  to  him  when  1  die,  and  he  shall  take  the  nacua  oi  Scott 
Scott  Lockhart  Scott.     Doe-sn't  it  gr)und  well,  Olive?" 

*'  ]t  sounds  well  enough,"  Olive  Sitys,  snsiling, 

"  ■"    ■  "      '     "      '    ■    ^"""  come  ta 


.?;d  love.  CU 


**  I  bopr*3  it  will  never  com'O  to  pass. " 

"  ^"^        lopo  your  sou  "won't  have  "VS  ' /iiver  ' 

■A',  your  own  son  ^vill  have  )',  Allie.     "Von  bavo 

an  ugly  silver  mug  the  day  he  was 

Hikes  bet  head,  denuded  of  its  golden        ,,  ,  svith 

n  braiiis  drrt'vn  buck  pininly  from  her  torehead  i  as  teat  i, 

..  i j;t  neatly  at  the  back,  of  her  neck. 

"My  dear  Aijie,  I  shonid  be  sorry  to  think  of  your  livino- tb( 

^..,.1..  ,  ]:f^.  y(,Q  iiuve  mapped  out  for  yourwlf.     It  seems  ail  ver, 
,  ■while  Tou  are  youiij;;  and  have  plenty  of  friends.     Bii; 
JoL'ely  y:>ii  would  feel  by-nnd-by  Tvheuyou  ' 
ut  husl)and  or  children  to  care  for  you — w;  , 
who  rtally  loved  you,  perhaps,  ife  and  iaoliici  is 

ioved!" 

ii  i  fii'^ii,  Olive  does  not  h'?ar  me,  though  her  pink  ears  are  sharp 

:^^'!:!'b.  '  •■ 

y  dear.  1  have  been  resigned  to  my  fate  this  lon|r  time  back,' 
•••■•'•JessJy,  pulling  one  of  Scott's  elastic  curls  straight  and  then 
un  into  gU)S8y  flaxen  spirals  Ji^ain;  "and,  afler  all.  it  is 
i.i;L  >.:i;  ■  :i  vlt}'  ten-ible  thingto  be  ah  old  maid." 
•'  1  thjuk  it  is  a  lerribie  thing,"  Olive  answers  seriou 
rrible  thint;." 

"  Yon  did  not  think  so  always,  Olive.    1  remember  when  yon  rid- 
ii'  a  of  marr-mony  and  were  going  in  for  woman's  rights 
.  X  idad  of  thing." 
"  uh,  that  was  before  1  ^?ne\^'!"  Olive  s;>7S  soltly.     *' Did  yo 
ev  hear  of  a  woman  who  had  ;>  lni<'V!T> :  ami  child?   ^  AisUiug  she. 
^if?  r.n  okl  m;ud,  AlUeV" 

"  ^Vhy  do  you  try  to  put  me  t^.n  w^  u</.iceit  with  .u  v  r.ji,  Olive?" 
iim  fretfully.     "1  said  long  ago  that  1  should  never  many, 
ju  '.i  1  never  shnll.     But  1  mean  to  be  htippy  in  my  v.     1  titii 

happy— in.-;  :i.;^  hnpo"  8«  h?jlf  the  innrried  v^-omen  i.  id." 

O;,  ,UQ,  very  positively 

*'  ;  'i  onr  te:i,"  T  )«!v..v,  v 


.-.     1  filiiver  in  my  bine  and  gold 

.-.,  .. . .  .,,  yet."  Olive  T;>>'Tnc   t^i.r-i^iiv  i^'' 
Not  so  vci  y  f\riy  "-- 

"■    ^"     ••     '   '    lulH  l»a(.l?    I  ii;i  •  '  ;j    I    tit.::    :i   :.::\   j.i.u'.^   iv. 

>t  hear  much  when  vou  and  Scott  ;  iih 


u)  hav 
to  pnli  • 


9:;';  FOR    LIFE    AK»    LOVE. 

'*  OTive,  the  ead  of  it  will  be  that  1  shall  quinTol  Mvith  you." 

"  1  bopf?  not,'"'  Olive  says  equably.  '*  Here  is  Sir  IloDald  coriuDg 
Ujj-  the  lavrn." 

L  bad  seen  bim  before  she  spoke,  crossing  the  grass  Iclsureitj^  his 
>!;un  under  his  arm,  and  his  'logs  at>  his  heels.  He  weais  knicker- 
bockers and  coarse  ribbed  shooling-stockings,  and  he  looks  very 
well — or  1  like  his  looks  very  well— as  he  comes  up  Lo  the  window. 

"  Just  in  tinoe  tor  tea,  Hoiiald." 

"  i  don'tcare  tor  tea,  Kosaiie,"  be  laughs,  leaning  his  giin  against 
the  waii  unl  sitting  do'«vn  on  the  slt^s  at  a  little  distance  from  me. 
"  But  1  don't  miiRiasyiisting  at  the  ceremony  once  in  a  way." 

"  Had  you  any  sport,  Ronald?" 

"  She  hopes  you  had  not,"  Olive  interpolates  ir.ischievously. 

"  Vriiy  does  siie  hope  that?"  KonaUl  ftsks,  looking  at  me. 

"Don't  mind  Olive;  she  is  intensely  disagreeable  today'  1 
laugh,  shnigging  my  shoulders. 

Digges  has  brought  up  a  gypsy-table  in  front  of  me.  and  laid  the 
tea-things  upon  it — my  dainty  Sevres  cups  and  sjutcers,  my  gdued 
spoons?  my  favorite  plum-cake,  piled  high  on  a  Sevres  dish,  Olive's 
iavorile  home-made  biscuits,  a  basket  of  ripe  black  plums. 

""What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  ail,  duy,  Rosalie'. 
Kourtld  asks,  with  apparent  irreievancy. 

"  Gardening  a  little,  and  driving  with  Aunt  Rosa." 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  meet  me,  as  3'ou  promised  yiu 
would?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  1  was  looking  out  for  you  in  the  larch  wood." 

"  Were  yon?"' 

'*  Is  that  the  way  in  which  you  keep  your  promises,  Rc«alie?" 

**  1  scarcely  ever  make  any  promises." 

**  So  much  the  better,  since  you  tan  break  them  so  easil}^" 

*'  I  inlenricd  to  go,  Ronald."  , 

/'  Tiieu  why  did  jou  uot  come?" 

If  I  had  any  rciison  at  all,  it  wassuch  a  silly  one  that  ]  do  not  cu 
(o  tell  it  W  him— indeed  nothmg  would  induce  u\e  to  tell  it  to  hit 
ot  all  people  in  the  world.  1  hav"e  gone  to  meet  1dm  on  his  way  ba( 
from  shooting  probably  a  hnndrtid  limes;  tuit  of  late  1  have  shruj 
from  treatmg  him  wUh  the  sisterly  familiarity  which  has  lendei' 
our  intcT'couise  with  each  c-iher  so*p^'-asant— to  me,  at  least— for  li 
-ciSt  three  yeais.     When  or  how  this  new  feeling  of  shyness  sprm 
up  it  would  puzzle  aiie  Lo  tell.     Rpnaid  lias  always  treu'.ed  me  like 
younger  sister,  ^Aith  a  crcntle  protetrting  kindness  which  has  nothii;., 
of  the  lover  about  it.     1  believe  his  isjst  attempt  at  love  niakmg  was 
in  the  train  that  evening,  three  years  ago,  when  he  brought  me  dow?-« 
lo  Woodbay.     1  do  noi.  remember  a  single  word,  a  single  look  aim 
then  which  could  be  cocLtrued  into  the  most  distant  approach  lu 
anything  beyoud  cousinly  or  brotherly  afiection.     And  1  have  ig- 
nored the  past  just  as  entirely — perlKips  it  wjis  easier  for  me  to  do  it 
than  for  him — aod  found  it  very  pleasant  to  have  Ronald  to  go  to  in 
■11  my  dilSculties,  to  ease  me -in  a  great  measure  ot  jili  my  cares  of 
-tatc,  for,  though  we  do  not  live  in  the  same  county,  or  in  the  same 
countrj'  cvea—'Ronald's    place,    Ba'quharrie,    is    in    Scotland — 1; 
comes  to  Woodhay  very  often,'  and  \v^  write  to  v.irh  ,)i\H'v  con.s^ini;  , 


FOR    LIFE    AKD    LOTE.  M'd 

— lot»g  letters,  cbicSy  on  business,  but  letters  M^hich  1  think  are  a 
pleasure  to  us  both.    1  know  they  are  a  '  to  me. 

i  bave  bail  a  great  niauy  offers  of  in  during  Ibe  last  three 

years,  more  than  1  care  to  remember,  i  dianissed  my  suitors  one 
after  the  other  with  no  qualms  if  conscience,  lor  even  tlie  vainest  of 
them  could  not  say  that  1  bad  bestowed  any  favora  upon  him,  or 
given  him  any  reason  to  believie  that  1  would  lend  a  favorable  ear  to 
his  suit.  The  only  one  for  whom  1  felt  any  sympathy  was  poor 
Gussie  Deane.  It  did  grieve  me— for  the  space  ot  a  day  and  a  half 
— to  send  him  away  sorrowing;  but  then  neither  had  1  ever  given 
him  any  encouragement — my  greatest  enemy  could  not  call  me  a 
flirt.  Gus  had  gone  out  to  the  Cape,  he  went  more  than  a  year 
ago;  Olive  hears  from  him  sometimes.  She  says  she  thinks  he  in 
getting  rather  fond  of  his  colonel's  daughter,  a  ni«e  girl  whom  we 
used  to  know  in  London;  and  1  hope  it  is  the  case,  Ellinor  Deane  ia 
married  to  Jack  Rolleston;  1  have  had  them  down  here  at  Woodhay 
on  a  visil.     Poppy  and  her  ^usbaud  are  in  Ceylon. 

Ronald  Scott  had  never  gone  back  to  India.  A.  distant  relative — 
a  third  or  fourth  cousin  of  his  mother's,  1  believe,  and  a  very  old 
man — hud  died  before  his  year's  holid.ay  was  over,  leaving  him  Balqu- 
h.vrie,  a  fine  wild  p>aee  in  the  north  of  Scotland,  which  it  seema 
he  always  knew  would  one  day  be  his.  1  have  never  been  there; 
but  1  have  seen  photographs  of  tho  old  CAStle,  with  its  keep  and 
drawbridge,  and  the  great  wild  mountains  towering  up  behind  it. 
Bometinaes  a  disagpeeable  thought  obtiudes  itself  lbio  my  mind  that 
Ronald  will  be  manying  somebody  some  of  these  days,  and  that  1 
shall  lose  my  friend.  But  1  put  the  idea  away  from  me  persLitentlT; 
when  the  misfortune  happens  it  will  be  lime  en&ugh  to  lament  over 
it     Me.anwhile  Ronald  ])elongs  to  me. 

Dear  old  Uncle  Tod  died  two  years  ago,  and  since  his  death  Aont 
Rosa  has  lived  with  me.  At  his  death  the  Lockharts  moved  > 
vicanige.    It  is  plcjisant  to  have  Olive  so  near— scarcely  a  da 
t  we  do  not  see  each  other — her  nursery  is  one  of  my 
anis.     When  1  am  enjoying  myself  there,  nobody  would       ^^ 
that  1  was  the  unapproachable  Miss  Somers  Scott  of  Woodhay — so, 
at  legist,  Olive  tells  me  when  she  interrupts  some  glorious  romp.  And 
1  am  happy  enough,  with  a  kind  of  negative  happiness — 1  manage  to 
'■^'(^  and  lake  aome  pleasure  out  of  life — without  the  heart  which  1 
led,  the  day  1  came  of  age,  far  down  in  the  depths  ot  my  shad- 
owy combe.     1  hare  never  attempted  to  raise  it  up  again — I  do  not 
8iippo.se  1  could,  if  1  would.     1  have  loved  and  done  with  love— 1 
/e  my  heart  to  Gerard  Baxter  three  years  and  a  halt  a  \i  i 

e  any  heart  lett,  it  is  iiLs  stixl.     Deep  down,  far  a\\;  :}io 

urbing  pleasures  and  cares  of  every  day,  lies  ttie  n  if  a 

Avi!;!  thirk  eyes — the  memory  ot  a  tall  handsome  ml 

;igo,  whom  1  know — it  I  dared  to  disturb  the  moss  and 
s  about  that  buried  heart— ^  i'^vc  still  a&  1  «i'  'i'  n...,  ri.^v,. 
»^  in  the  world. 
L  wi. night  you  were  in  a  hurry  Un  n.iv,  Allie?" 
'  )Hve'8  voice  wokcs  me  out  of  a  reverie. 
1  wonder  vrhere  Lily  is?"  1  remark,  as  1  anange  mj  cupe  and 
!^orf». 


94  FOR    ilFE    AKD    LOVE. 

"  Poor  cbildl"  i  stiy  softly. 

"Stie  seems  eery  ncrvoas  and  excited,  Allie,  doesn't  she?** 

"  Is  it  any  wonder?" 

"  1  s appose  not." 

1  fesl  nervous  and  excited  rayself,  tliough  I  try  not  to  think  of  to- 
TOornotv.  1  ha'^e  been  learning  a  lesson  for  the  last  three  years,  and 
I  am  afraid,  now  that  1  shall  so  soon  be  called  upon  to  repeat  it,  my 
couraue  may  fail  at  the  last  moment.  If  I  could  have  saved  myselt 
fso  severe  a  trial,  1  would  have  done  it;  but  I  could  not  very  well. 
And,  after  all,  it  is  better  to  have  it  over.  The  test  must  come 
sooniT  or  later,  and  sometimes  1  almost  long  tor  it  with  a  fever  of 
impatience,  for,  till  1  have  tried  my  own  endurance,  bow  can  I  know 
tk'it  it  will  stand? 

*'  Scott,  will  you  run  in  and  pvill  the  bell,  darling — or  stay,  I  will 
go  lor  her  myself.  Here  is  your  te^,  Olive,  and  excuse  me  (or  a  mo- 
ment— 1  want  to  see  wbat  Lily  is  about." 

1  find  her  in  the  pretty  south  roon.  which  1  have  had  fitted  up  for 
her.  iSbe  is  standing  before  the  glaas,  a  foiender  figure  in  si  long 
white  covvn. 

'^UTyl" 
She  turns  round  at  the  sound  of  my  voice. 

'^  Admirmg  yourself,  you  vain  chdd?" 

Slie  runs  lo  me,  throws  her  arms  round  me,  a-d  bursts  into  a 
sudden  pnssion  of  tears. 

"  My  dear  Lily,  what  are  you  crying  for,  on  tliis  day,  of  all  days 
in  the  yenrl"  Only  sobs  answer  me.  1  touoti  her  hair  tenderly,  the 
soft  hair  that  fleams  like  gold  as  it  rippka  away  from  her  white  fore- 
head.    "  You  are  a  very  foolish  child,  Lily;  do  you  know  that?" 

''  1  cannot  help  it,  Rosalie,  ob,  Rosalie,  what  if  he  should  not 
care  for  me — what  it  he  sbould  have  cared  for  somebody  else — " 

"  He  has  not  cared  for  anybody  else  since  he  left  you,  darling." 

"  But  how  do  you  kno-w?", 

■  1  know.  And  1  have  come  to  take  you  down  to  tea.  Dry  your 
eyes  and  come  with  me," 

Bbe  dr  es  her  eyes  obediently;  she  is  just  a«i  much  of  a  child  still 
as  she  was  tbiee  years  ago.  In  other  things  she  is  improved  out  of 
nil  resembhnjce  to  her  former  self  In  appp.arat»ce  she  has,  if  any- 
thin.r,  .^r.iiiod  in  attractiveness,  while  in  manner  she  is  as  differ fnt 
ho2\  r;;e  lirl  1  brought  down  to  Woodhay  three  years  ago  as  she  is 
in  euii''::iion  and  refjnemenl  of  speech.  I  have  taken  pains  to  make 
Geraxd's  wife  as  beautiful  mentally  as  s-heis  outwardly,  for  his  sake, 
and  1  have  been  rewarded  by  a  most  unexpected  measuie  of  suc- 
cors. Lily  is  as  fair  as  the  flower  she  m  called  aftei — the  w^retched 
gun<)ritidin;;s  of  her  neglected  childhood  have  not  smirched  the  white- 
ncpa  of  her  8oul. 

A  iltt-  ,rd  slie  is  still,  a  little  willful  even;  but  to  me  she  is 

always  (  ;;  itself.     1  think  ehe  always  vrould  be  to  anj  one 

she  ;OV(^4l4  .  •      " 

Ai)'  r])e  lotes  ine  with  a  perfect  passion  of  devotion.     Wlietli 
e'uj  \.  (;u.!d  lore  me  so  much  it  she  knew  how  Gerard  once  loved  me  1 
1^110  V  y~(jl — '1  have  taken  care  that  she  shall  never  hear  that  story  from 
me  or  fro«)  any  one  else. 

«*^.v^j, .'  cVmP  1  /i.>  >f  iiehaf"'-'  "'"'->  T^n.-.TTov" 


roil    LI1''K    A  SI)    LOVE.  95 

1  am  holding  one  of  the  small  trembllnj^  hf>nd«t.  smoothing  back 
"s  of  red  goUl  Lair  out  of  I  ho  xci'  •  vie  eyes. 

cf  the  wiatfui  fiice  Siinds  a  sfrai/^  .learL 

;...     ,  o  •    <: -ling!     As  if  ho  could!" 
'  Ho  ut;vci  :<',o  1  me  ae  1  loved  him,  Rosalie." 
*'  Then  bo  will  full  in  love  with  you  to  niorroTr,"  1  assare  her, 
smiling.     She  smiles  too  at  fhat,  a  rery  childlike  smile. 
"  If     oowld  ouly  Ihkili  it—" 

**  My  darliug,  you  may  bo  sure  of  it.     He  will  not  be  able  to  help 
iiioaseif." 

**  Am  1  so  different  from  what  1  was  then?" 
The  deep  velvety  eyes  s<>arch  my  face  wistfully,  the  color  buma 
deeper  and  de'-nf^r  in  the  rounded  cheeks. 

"  Just  the  d'.ucrence  that  he  would  wish  to  see,  Lily.     You  were 
I  (hen,  darling:  now  you  are  a  woman,  readv  to  lend  a  woman's 
helpful  life." 
'  it  1  noay  only  help  him,  Rosalie!" 

'*  You  sihall  help  liim.     See  how  he  has  got  on — what  a  name  he 
^  made  for  himself!    And  if  he  has  done  so  much  alone,  what 
X-  iil  he  not  do  with  you  to  cheer  and  encourage  him?" 
She  sighs,  as  it  the  picture  oppressed  her  with  its  weight  of  felicity. 
"  VVl.'Hi  have  you  been  doing  up  here  ail  the  afternoon,  Lily?" 
*'  Looiving  at  niy«elt  in  the  glai?s,"  she  answers  at  once. 
"  Tv  ou  are!"  1  say,  laughing. 

*' II  ,  wasn't  it?    But,  if  you  knew,  Rosalie — ' 

"1  do  know,  Uiirliug— 1  know  all  about  it." 
It  is  L  who  sigh  this  time,  rerneml>ering  a  girl  in  a  blue  dre.';^, 
h  a  bunch  of  violets  nt»etl)ug  over  her  heart — a  girl  who  had 
,    ;ked  up  mto  Gerard  Baxters  dark  eyes  and  "  lovevl  him  with  that 
lovo  which  was  her  doom." 

"Come  down  and  have  some  tea,"  1  say,  drawing  her  out  ot  the 
room  with  me 

1  love  tho  'hi.'d,  for  Gerard's  sake;  but  it  hits  cost  me  ma»v-  ; 
T->'.n|/  to  w;ii<};  hi'T  gvowiniv  loveiip.fvs  and  tbink  who.9e  arms  - 

1  by  when  i  am  fo 
'  ^>  has  come  ovej  it 
iy  in  al)cyan<-e — that  the  very  sound 
..   bring  it  aii  to  life  agnin,  to  ht«""»  ■"■■ 
oki  ish  of  unrest. 

•" '^■•■">w,"  the  girl  says  dream! 
tb  know  tomorrow," 


Bh^  ot  me.     And  1, 

r--^  »o  the  window 


FOE    LI?E    AKB    LOVE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

''  On,  Tlosalie,  why  have  you  put  on  that  hideous  drees?'* 

"Hideous!"  1  repeat/looking  down  at  it.  "  Do  you  think  it 
Wdeons,  Lily?" 

"  Why,  everybody  does!  It  is  aDout  the  only  unbecoming  dress 
you  have,  Rosalie — Mrs.  Lockhart  is  always  wishing  somebody 
'would  steal  it,  or  burn  it,  or  something." 

''  Oh,  Olive  never  admired  my  taste  in  dress!" 

"  But  it  is  not  becoming  to  you,  indeed,  Rosalie." 

"  My  dear,  I  have  ceased  to  study  my  appearance  1" — which  is  not 
true,  since  1  have  studied  it  particularly  liiis  evening. 

"  And  1  wanted  you  teik>dk  well,"  Lily  says,  sighing,  as  she  eosa- 
aiders  n;§, 

"  If'Vcrti'look  well,  tliat  is  all  that  is  of  any  consequence." 

"  Do  12'"  the  girl  asks  wistfully. 

She  lonks  exquisite  in  her  dress  of  snowy  llama  softly  ruffled  with 
Spanish  lace. 

"  ;My  dear,  1  have  spent  the  last  hour  and  a  half  over  your  toilet 
—do  you  think  it  likely  I  would  have  ceased  my  efforts  unless  1  had 
been  satisfied  with  the  result?" 

She  smiles  a  little  at  this — her  infantine  innocent  smile. 

"  You  look  like  a  white  rose,"  1  say,  tenderly  stroking  the  pretty 
white  arm.  "  You  must  have  more  color  in  your  cheelis  than  that, 
Lily,  or  else  your  husband  will  think  1  have  been  starving  you!" 

There  is  color  enough  in  her  cheeks  for  a  minute  after  that;  but  it 
fades  away  again;  the  deep  pansy- blue  eyes  look  darker  than  ever, 
rhe  childish  lips  tremble,  even  the  little  gloved  liand  shakes  as  I  clasp 
It  closely  in  my  own.  1  shall  l)c  gkd  vhen  this  interview  is  over. 
Mj  own  heart  is  beating— my  own  coior  comes  and  goes  at  every 
i  o'und  without— 1  am  almost  sorry  1  told  Digges  to  light  up  the 
drawmg-room;  but  1  wanted  Gerard  to  see  his  wife  in  a  full  blajse 
of  light,  to  be  dazzled  by  her  Ixauity,  as  1  know  his  artiatic  Unagiaa- 
rion  will  be  dazzled  by  it,  surro^mdcd  by  ov«ry  adventitious  aid  that 
i  can  think  of  or  devise. 

It  is  a  quarter  to  ^£ht  o'clock — at  eight  he  may  b«  here;  I  have 
seat  a  carriage  to  meet  him  at  the  railway-station;  he  i&  to  stey  at 
Woodhay  to-night.  Ronald  has  been  out  all  day  shooting;  it  is 
8<;aroBly  five  minutes  since  he  ran  npstaii-s  to  dress.  He  too  »iWii 
rather  excited— 1  cannot  think  what  has  coma  over  him.  He  tioes 
uot  seem  jealous  of  mv  expected  visitor— he  seeans  rather  in  a  hurry 
If)  have  him  come.  His  manner  puzzles  me  a  little,  because  he  is 
■•^n ("rally  so  grave  and  seif-«ontained,  so  imperriotifl  apparantly  to 
i  :;^  mere  outward  influettces  wkidi  have  such  paw«r  to  rais©  or  to 
de]:i(reas  me. 

Ok?  Digges  has  certainly  dene  his  best  to  iHuminate  the  drawto^^ 
worn.     The  wood  fire  ef^cklss  and  sparkies  on  Uie  hearth,  reifleQted 
in  evti'y  painted  tile;  the  chrmdeiier  sflajiidlktes  with  ronr  after  row 
'>£  softly  himiaous  wax-ca«dles,  i"^e«ted  in  every  mirror  about  tkoy 
room,    it  is  a  pretty  loo^ J^ou^  1  say  it,  to  whom  it  belong®. 


T!>  torra  -  9  • 

iaint  aad  t'A\  aod  old  f'»«hioii-?d,  and  it  n«vei'  icoiis  so  w«ll  as 

hen  it  is   •         '  "-^  "*  'i-'j;*:.     And  itn  warm  rtti  tonoB  throw  out 

:it  Vfhiti  V,  standing  in  the  tuil  hLizc  of  the  wax 

'  ruuiiy  velvet  throws  out  some  fair  '   ^  *      '  ;tue, 

iip&a  more  purely  j.  hiie  by  contrust.    '  »\vn 

'  i^ht  ^^6  r{.<)n]  uffordji,  uncx' 

;r  (s'aDilif.!;  vvhi!«  1  lisleu  i.  i 

ill  to  iii  to  lany  {<o  lon«f, 

*  You  I;  e  if  1  go  out  to  meet  him,  Lily;  lemiiniUir 

-at." 
'Here — ni'-/;.':"   she  askc,  ■wiUi  frightened  eyea  searchiog^  my 

' '  My  da         ,1  will  ouly  he  lor  a  moment.     But  yon  mast  prom- 

:  me  nor  (,, .  ;:r. " 

•*  Not  e .  n  to  the  door,  Rowlie?" 

**  Koi  t  om  where  1  loavc  3'ou,  doar — it  is  1  who  ^ould 

iflv,  you  know — " 
,  (It  T  not  coine  vrith  you?" 
"  isu.  ste  him  first— for  ri  moment — alone." 

"To:;  n  me  too  lor.;''   wriitiiig?"    nhe  pleads,  with  a 

.,  djirila<^— i..  ,  ..  ....  ,c,  probably,  if  so  mwch." 

be  a  long  time  over  his  toilet  this  evcnin«.%  ox 

■  '  ii  u."  .  es  not  wish  to  be  pre-w^Jit  at  the  " •■  -  of  1h>s- 

nd  and  Vunt  Hosa  never  makes  her  ap;  till  the 

'  not  think  there  is  much  dangoi-  oi  iicr  veering 
''>-n!"bt. 

'     "s  in  the 
ain. 
.ays,  putting  her  band  to  her  heart. 


oom  quietly,  looking  back  at  her  over  my  shoul- 
il  tho  li.'rrit' jwftms  concentrfttwl  about  the 


J  p'irh.  1  nT>cn  the  door  and 
(Tf-riini  ;o  it  ouC  of  the 

,.     .  .  .-.'cJJib''"   ■ 

ot  nie  in  a  :  .«d  comc«  ron<"ard  quicklj, 

',  the  other  cm.   i  m  -i  oxjt  to  nvxrf  uiiue. 
oodhay,"  1  auy,  smiling.     And  the  dreaded  meet- 

e  anRwers,  in  tb«  voire  1  rem*»Tnb#T  so  well,  and 

m  witb  eyes 


a^^in.Hio''.     .    '    cioiheil   wiilj   every  tair  atiriburc  under  the  Mm! 

Surely  1  i  >>   vf  ^(ir.;n:i»ti   ;,irn    r>r  »»'si'  hr  tiMm(,  havo  Changed 


98  Foi 

mysteriouRlY,  if  nil's  pallid  liandsome  rnia.n  is  tii. 
ago— the  Gemrd  Baxter  whrnn  my  god-like  faac; 
perpetual  youtn!    Tiiis  ra&a  looks  old  tor  his  iiii, 
sfout,  is  ^]>i'^rididly  iiaadsojne  certninly,  Tvitb  a  kni 
ff;n!ioa  of  feature  and  coioring;  but  lie  k  not  tlie  in 

■  \\\  love  three  years  and  a  hulf  a»i;o— the  sletidc 
:     ist  -who  "did   win  my  heuit  from   me"  iv 
BhiU.)l)y  Iionse  in  Caiietoa  Slr^K:', 
the  da\'  1  canie  of  age! 

"  Will  you  go  in  Uiere?"  1  say,  loosiag  my  h; 
siriisp,  and  uofiding  my  head  toward  iJie  dniwii 
promKBcd  uot  to  deiaiu  you  for  mors  thau  a  mini: 

'•  Is  slie  there?"  he  a«kH,  in  li  sort  of  Ir- ;  ''■' ■ 

"Yes." 

He  hesitates  for  a  moment,  lookin';  dovvn  ai  i: 
he  tiiinks  of  me  iu  the  ugly  mouse-coloied  vi 
triends  wish  somebotly  would  Bt(^l  or  di^alro;. 

•*  1  suppose  you  have  forgotten  me?"  he  6.' 

"  Quite,"  1  linswer,  with  a  cheerful  smile- 
ten  me." 

He  shakes  his' head  at  tliat;  but  I  put  my  baud 
and  impel  him  toward  the  open  door.  1  can  gee 
ga  in,  aad  .yet  he  hesitates — cmu  it  be  oat  of  com-p 

"Go  in."  i  say  sroJlingiy,  and   usher  him  ial- 
nfited  room,  wailing  just  long  enough — unperceiv 
the  !o">iv  of  bewiidfa'nient  on  hia  face  chringf 
rtf  ;•  M.iiraUou,  and  to  liear  her  low  ory  of  dt;. 
\.  ;.r  'i  iiito  h:s  ouistrelclied  arms. 


Dirjner  is  over — such  a  merry  dinner  as  had  i 

*'^     ''ny  tor  many  a  long  day.     Kot  even  the  g^ 
"i  or  my  oki  butler's  soK-mn  viss^-e  (ionld 
.  c,  i.'i-:  ;>c^;iove  any  one  ,jj:ave  a  single  tiiought  to  c! 
Ilci-a  iauv:,od  till  the  teiu's  lan  d^.wn  lier  cJieeks  !.' 
uros  abroad,  which  he  related  wiMi  u  qnif^t  kuuio; 
minded  me  of  21ark  Twain  and  the  irn^j^tib  e  '^ 
kuH  traveled  a  g-ood  deal,  and  8om€  of  hia  esp 
cities  and  i^alleries  wei'e  most  amusing,  or  he  i!i;r 
tliem  in  his  droll  unsnuling  way.     As  for  Kr 
[dm  looking  so  bappy  bei'ore  as  be  lias  Ic 
BaA't^  came  into  tiu^-  hoi^se. 

After  dinner,  we  three  ladies  betake  ourscrvrs  k>  ..'.l-  \,iii'.\n 
room.    Aunt  Kosa  disposos  herself  tor  a  imp  on  the  tofa,  and  h. 
kneels  on  the  rug  beside  my  favorite  lov.'-ei^air,  and  re<*ts  her  elbow 
on  my  knee  aad  her  cheeli.  in  her  bund,  looking  into  the  lire  w^tb 
Eercr,  •!7  liappy  eyes. 

"  Wrii,  Liiy,"'l  ask  t'*  ]^'M,  "  :<•  your  silly, btti/ 

"  I  think  {■•(>,"  sb(-  ,  dravniig  a  loug  bic 

,'.:    T  ..  .,,  .",  happy!" 

ly  yo«ir  sg  continue,  darling/'  1  say,  and  bt. 


hex 

15;  up  at  uie  with  toft  qu- 

iiopt  complete  content. 
:  lo  bo  iiappy,  ISosahe;  you  have  bar 

arded  now  by  seeing  your  bap; 

:;  he  is  happv,"  ehe  stu-s  drenmllr,  lookii; 

• '  lie  i-*,     f  flo  not    : anybody  "  ,.<  r 

i  to-nijrht." 

'  very  happy,  Lily  observer  Ci. 
'-.P  fit  ni*;. 
■■  ies;  .  .(id  in  rather  br'! 

1  hnv."  •  ii^'  ho\r  w.Ml  lie  i 

viih  his  gniye  tfice  and  dioopin^  brown  r 
in*;-  look  in  his  brown  eyes.     It  is  cerlainlv  \ 
oTooU  happy,     1  wonder  if  1  too  look  hi 

;  liadn't  worn  this  iicly  dnew,**  T. 
-colored  velv^ecn  with  ii 
iiO;r.  I.ilrf' 

"  1  have  ]■ 

vof.r  T: 


""  T  smile  to  ni}.  . ..;  .  ^ ^. 


ill,  ihougb— 1  i 
smile  to  ni} 
•iru3  her  head,  listenia^  i 

hink  yon  wUl  nerto  see  him  again,"  1  1.'.  i  <  r 

!<<in«:  frotn  her  pi 

iiuf,  wh«-" 
lu,  1   &M  disuppoinied— 

*  * 

eped  in  mconlip:bt  as  bri>rht  as  day.  n 


ot  niv 


100  FOE    LIPS    A^JTD    LOYE. 

"  gray  against  the  gray."    So  Bcmald  finds  me  xv lien  he  saunters 
ro^ad  irom  the  dioing^rofrm  a  PBoni«iit  later,  finishing  his  cigai 

'* '  !)•  I  sl«K'5>— do  I  drf?aHJ, 
Or  »j-«  viiii-OMB  aboiit?' " 

be  laughs,  throwing  away  the  cigar  to  lean  ov^r  tlie  baioony  besi 
me.     '•  What  lucky  chance  induced  you  to  take  an  airing  here  l<. 
Bight,  cor V 'Li?'* 

"  i?o  CiUiace  at  all,  but  perfect  good-nature."  1  answer,  pmilm. 
"  1  did  to  Oihers  what  1  would  have  them  do  unio  me  in  the  bai 
circrisBRtujaceo — that  was  alL" 

'*  i  bip^.s  the  kiudiy  ihouglit,"  Ron&ld  says,  looking  atmy  smilii 
fsice  by  tiii;  light  of  the  moon.  "  We  must  leave  them  a  long  tii. 
to<!:€4iier,  Allie,  mustn't  we?" 

1  do  not  tUiofe  he  has  ever  called  me  Allie  befoi-e;  if  he  has,  1  < 
not  r&member  it.  Bat  1  like  to  hear  him  3ay  it  ia  that  grave  tenc' 
voice  of  hk. 

"  1  must  give  them  some  tea  presently." 

'*  Tea!  Do  you  liiiuk  they  will  want  tea — or  anything  else — wh 
they  have  c^nch  otlier?" 

"  But  AuDt  Rosa  will  wake  up  like  clock-work  and  call  out  for 
hers — you  koow  she  always  doea." 

**  I  hope  ber  jollity  at  dinner  will  have  a  soporific  e:ffect,"  Ronald 
!augb,>,  s:L:'..::ging  his  shoulders  '*  Allie,  what  a  night  it  is.  1  was 
just  \v!?Ijir:i;  I  could  pt'i-suadc  you  to  come  out  when  1  turned  t]»^ 
comer  of  'he  house  and  toimd  you  here." 

*'  Were  you  indeed?"  1  euy,  watching  the  moon  glide  across  frf> 
one  tutted  tree-top  to  another.     "  It  is  seldom  one's  wishes  are 
qttic'  '  "■ — so  far,  at  le^mt,  ae  my  experience  goes." 

hiuk  you  had  need  to  wish  for  very  little,  All. 

''  1     ..  Sv;?"  1  ask,  turning  my  head  to  look  at  him. 

"  ^ .  iiy,  m.ast  people  would  say  you  h^  all  your  he&rt  ixi^il'l  tl 
■■^ipe. ' ' 

"Has  ;•  vhody  that,  1  wonder?" 

1  huvr  .  k  to  my  c-ontemplatlon  of  the  moon,  and  I  speak 

*hewori.  -.uiilj,  not  so  much  a  question  as  an  "'•'^'^•'•♦^■on.  j'et 

HonaM  ar-  v.eiis  them  sfi  if  th^iy  hiwi  betn  a  question. 

"  Do  ; :!!,  is  there  unyboiiy  perieclly  happy  in  uk^  world"- " 

"  If  h  1  the  h^iiri,  could  desire  would  make  one  happ} 

yes," 

"  1  only  desire  one  thing  at  this  moment,"  Ronald  says,  in  a  lower 
tone, 

"  To  make  you  happy?" 

•'  To  Biake  me  so  in'olerably  happy  that  1  would  count  one  hotjr 
ot  such  1  V  njv;s  worth  the  pain  and  toil  oi  a  lifetime  if  by  thai 
only  cor  In  it." 

Be  is  r  .     ...  .viog  at  me  cow,  but  ^t  my  dusky  belt  of  woodland 

yismg  df,:'.?v>jy  hiack  against  the  iaint  faix'moonlit  sky.    But  1  glance 

•  t  1  ■  "ace — altROst  stern  it  looks  aa  he  stands  there  erect  in  the 

nd  wondetr  why  my  heart  beats  so  loudly,  mikI  wLat 

ne ,-.  L .   ...  has  come  to  the  soft  epiendor  of  the  Septet 

"  J  !■  e,"  he  M;iys,  In  ruing  to  me  suddenly,  *' jom 
th-at  ';  G  i  carfod  iir  loi— -somebody  else--thii 


NIJ     LOVR.  l^;' 


«ia  times  Wilier— « 
'■wm  wo:dj4 — I.  ccu['j  r* 
Vcs,  "  I  answci    va^;.;t;'.y,  rtan. 
M  "t  VM(i  ^a,id  i.,  stauding  in  the 


•  ferv  window,  ^liicb  is  ffliHviBfinna:  behind  us  now  in  tbc 
UL  u    iue  moon.  *        ...      »•.,*,••  '^  *  •  •" 

"  1  did  DOt  ask  }  iam«  thrn.'Abfi'i  flm  Tot  .Ntlwcf't*) 'ask*  ."^ 

now,"  R(jnald  p:c)eii  ou,  la  liie 
am  gw^ciL  to  Jifiii  ynu  if  you  v.  . 
day,  AJiie — if  you  it  in  jour  litmi  to  iovt 

— 1.  rrlir.  hare  io\  .  loiii;!" 

'  1     M'  listi  l)e:in V    31  .T"  hear;  Ile«  buried  nnder  thrv^e  ni   ';  ' 
- .  in  tbt*  iaolJow  yonder!    How  can  1  give  liir;  -  nr  :^n^  . 
duud  find  ioath^^osrio  Uiimj;? 
a-.iit  1  Lave  no  liearL  to  give  you,  Honald." 
*'  Have  you  not?"  Ue  says,  fcmiiin^  a  little.     "  Allie;  1  am  wiser 
'1  tbtnk  yoti  iiavc." 

' — in  a  w.cond  of  time,  it  seems  to  m^ — ttjv  ppint  flit- 
-  by  the 
liiron;. 
i-s  lili  ii  .  gruve — liuiLj  it,  ill 

,  tJie  ;rii  .,  -     :>,  the  dead  lojives  ot   _   .^ 

s,  und  di.v.overf^i — rothing.  It  is  not  there,  the  bean  ih.-;: 
..  ,iiere  thne  years  ago— that  shallow  gnt^-'  >i  '^  r,/^  >-.ri  <.,  -,, 
—it  18  trC'C! 

.vllie,  ^ ti  no  heart  to  s:iT«  me— now?' 

lie  Is  w  HV  iace,  he  lias  drawn  neaixjr  to  me — uts  holv1«  ou' 

'lure  th*t  i*  Ujo  deep  lor  \l'.[ 
■y  aud  suffer  inyf.fif  I©  be 
i)oiri  I  bciieve  i  have  really  k/Yxa  feisi"' 
j  -lo  make  iove  U»  <P.e' 


^Old  Sleuth's  Spedal^' 
Detective  Series 

The  following  list  contains  fh© 
very  latest  and  best  books  m 
J^e  detective  story  line,  all  of  which 
are  written  by  "  Old  Sleuth^** 

the  best  detective  story  writer  of 
the  age.  Each  book  contains  from 
200  to  3©o  pages,  all  being  bound 
in  a  new,  handsome,  attractive  up- 
to-date  lithographed  paper  coTar, 
printed  in  colors. 


1  Malcolm 

2  Witch  of  MaiAattan 

3  The  Ez-Pugilist  Detective 

4  True  Blue 

5  Mtirray^  The  Detective 

6  Oscar^  The  Detective 

7  Ke£ton 

8  A  Lady  Shadower 

9  Night  and  Momiog^ 
10  The  King's  Detective 
jj  A  Ptizzlicg  Shadow 
52  Seth  Bood 
n  A  Veird  Sea  Myttetf 

4  The  Twin  Athletes  j 
*5  A  SingJs  Cloe 
X6  A  One  Night  Mystgfgp 
J7  A  Man  ol  Mystery 
IB  A  Rcmar^ble    '       " 
t9  Tales  From  a  _ 
20  AFinalTdumph 
2J  Magic  DIcfc,  The  1 

22  The  VttgitoquhA  Vc...^^^ 

23  The  Old  Miser's  "Waf d 

24  A  Detective's  Daughter 

25  A  "^eird  Cottrtship 

They  are  for  sale  by  eveiy  newsdealer,  or  they  w!^^^ 
sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  for  25  cents  each,  or  any  five  I 
fot  ^r«oo.      Address  all   oiSers  to 

ADDRESS  ALL  ORDERS  TO 

MAX  STEIN  &  CO.,  508  S.  State  St,  CHI€ASG,  BCL 


26  Winning  a  Princess 

27  Nerval*  The  Dctediva 

28  Vavel 

29  Fonoy  Boh 

30  A  Little  Confederate 
3J  Nimble  Ike 

S2  The  Giant  DetertWe 

33  The  CowDoy  Detective 

34  The  Bicycle  Detective 

35  Dick,  Tiie  Boy  Detective 
3^  Aggravating  Joe 

^^  J&dc  The  Juggle/s  Qtde^ 
■\  ikek  The  Juggler's  Trail 
■^raalc  Ventriloquist 
.  ,  :k?pcf  ate  Chance 
".  V'jie^^>  Payne's 

'/o  '^/'ofsderful  Detective 
"        Detective 

45  Ti'^^\Fal--a  Res£.m'biS2ce 


P^,r^.»c  '*Shadt>Tv 


48  The  WesS  P©aii 

49  From  Street  to  the  Foe 

50  The  Detective  Taso 


siifiiBgmmiiiiiJiijaMJi.jamMii^MM 


I  Charles  Garvice 

is  known 

the  world  over  as  a  writer  <^  stories 
that  captivate. 

The  ibllowing  are   printed   in   the  "Heart**  Series,  on 

good  paper,  in  large,  clear  type,  most  of  them  being 
copyrighted  and  published  in  no  other  line; 

PRICE  15c  EACH 


Farmer  Holt's  Daughter 

My  Lady  of  Snow 

Woven  on  Fate's  Loom 

Behind  the  Footlights,  or  A  Love  Comedy 

The  First  and  Last 

The  Slave  of  the  Lake 

The  Female  Editor 

Dangerous  Delights 

The  Woman  Decides 

Leave  Love  to  Itself 

In  the  Matter  of  a  Letter 

A  Sacrifice  to  Art 

The  Taming  of  Princess  01g» 

A  Sample  of  Prejudice 


For  Sale  at  All  Bookstores,  cr  bf 
MAX  STEIN,  Publisbere      40(M02  D«aibora  Street,      CHICAGO  \\ 


«TH  FOR  25  CENTS! 

Old  Secrets  and  New  Discoveries 

COSfTAINS    ITOrORMATION    OF    KAKB    VAtUE    FOR   A£X« 
CLASSES,    Ur    AJLJ^   CONDITIONS    OF    SOCIETY. 

This  book  is  a  c«mi%1tia> 
tion  of  six  booka,  •aoh  eon?- 
plete  in  itself,    and  Tfhdeto 
Trere  fcrmerl^y  publink«d  at 
^  cents  pbr  copy.  Following 
are  the  titles  of  the  gix  books 
contained  in  OLD  5BCRB1*C 
AND  HBV/  DiACOVBIUeS: 
(1)  Old  Secrete; 
(^)  Seerets  for  FarxBeYS; 
(8)  Preserriiigr  Secrets; 
(4)  Maxtmfkcturing:Secr«t»$ 
C&)  t>ecret«  for  tbM  Moa»e- 

'wife;  and 
(6)  The    Secret    of  Moaer 

Getting:,  by  P.  T,  Bam-utsu 

This    Book    TeM«    how    to 

make  persona  at  a  •■ 
tan 06    think    of    yc 
Something    all    lovor^i 
should  know, 
it  Tells  how  you  can  tfEmitn 
thoae    you    meet    ajtid 
make  them  lore  yoa. 
fit  Telfs  how  Spirlttiflltrts  and  others  oan  make  writing  appear  on  the  ana 
Jn  blood  characters,  as  perfomibd  by  Fc«ter  and  all  noted  magicians. 
^t.'Saia  how  to  roaks  a  cheap  Galyanio  Battery ;  how  to  plate  and  gild 
Without  a  battery;  howtomake»<Jandle  burn  all  nigtit;  how  to  make 
»  clock  for  2&oeal»;  how  to  detect  counterfeit  money;  bow  to  banisii 
luid  prevent  mosquitoes  from  kiting;  how  to  make  yellow  butter  in 
winter;  Circaseian  curling  fluid ;  Sympathetic  or  Secret  Writing  Ink  .• 
Cologne  Water;  ArtLficial  Honey;  Btammerinp: :  how  to  make  Is 
nosee  small;  to  «mre  drunkenness;  to  copy  leriers  without  a  pr.. 
V)  obtain  ^etsh-blowu  tiowea  in  winter;  to  make  good  burning  Qaj> 
dies  f  rona  lard. 
St^Ua  how  to  mako  a  borse  app<?ar  »s  fhotsgh  be  was  badly  foianderedj 
to  make  a  horse  tflmporarlly  lame ;  how  to  make  hira  stand  by  his  teod 
•nd  iK)t  eat  it;  bow  to  cure  a  horse  from  the  crib  or  »u eking  wind; 
bow  to  put  a  young  ©ountenanoe  on  the  horse;  how  to  corer  up  the 
beaves ;  how  to  ns«ike  him  appear  hm  if  be  had  the  glanders ;  how  to 
make  a  true-puUlng  hor»e  balk;  how  to  nerre  a  hors«  that  is  lasne, 
etc.    The»e  iaoiise  aecrote  are  being:  continually  sold  at  one  dcUar  each. 
il>^H4  how  t()  make  tfee  Egg*  of  Pbaro's  Serpents,  from  whieb,  wtoea 
lighted,  thoa;?h  but  the  »uee  of  a  pea,  ther©  issues  from  It  a  «oiiiii€:,  hiss- 
ing serpent,  wonderful  in  length  an4  similarly  to  a  gcxiuiii*  serpent. 
It^Beils  of  a  simple  «»d  ini^enloua  method  for  copying  any  kb3i4  cf  diwiw* 
Ingorpicturo.    AjKlxnor8WcindBz{tilsUU,bcrw  to  print  pM£aBQS&^ 
the  print  Keeli 
Ifc^ito  bow  to  perSDWBi  fb©  Baveoport  Bawtbars^  **Bpirilt  Mys*8ries;"  so 
that  any  versen  ean  ft<j»toni$;h  an  audiecoe,  as  bas  been  done.    Also 
Cfiores  c€  other  woaad«rfal  thiii^s  wbiob  w«  bare  zu>  room  to  mentson. 
0LD  SBCRBTS  ASm  mSW  DE5COVBRIBS  contains  over  aSO  8oHd  pa^^ 
{If  %0adins  vsteMBTt  aKd  to  wortb  $1.S0  to  anirperson ;  b«at  it  will  bs  nxailod 
fjo>a>ny  adda<efleen«-eeei|?t  tai  only  ^  oeets.    Fastage  stamps  taken  in  pay- 
ment  fQ7<M  ttee^Easad  as  osssb.    loer  aa«p«j^baej&i£-bQQ^'Jd«&tfkS^76r« 

ADDRESS  ALL  ORDERS  TO 

M^X  STEIN  «c  CO.,  508  S.  State  Su  (faHOAGQ,  JUL 


1.0 


€1  MARRIAGE    ""^f^^ 

TrflS  is  the  BG^^rest  nad  most  vf^to-date  book  on  tkese  sab^feoka.  it 
ezplaios  how  girls  may  become  bappj  wives,  bacliek}xs  become 
happy  hnsbands.  Cootains  complete  znstructionB  for  declaring  iah 
»2ntion8,  accepting  vo'ws,  and  retaining  affections,  both  befoce  and  after 
oaania^e.  It  indudes  a  treatise  on  "  The  Etiquette  of  Marriage,"  d»> 
scribing  inyitations,  the  dresses,  the  co'emony,  and  the  proper  behavior 
ci  both  bride  and  bddegix>oDa,  whethar  in  public  or  behind  the  nuptial 
cturtaia.  It  alao  tells  pLciJy  how  to  begin  courting;  the  way  to  get  oves 
bashfulness ;  the  way  t^  "*  brace  up  and  be  a  man  * ;  the  way  to  find  the 
soft  »pot  in  a  sweetheart's  breast;  the  way  to  write  a  love4etter;  ttke 
way  to  easUy  win  a  girl's  consent ;  the  way  to  "pop  the  qnestioa,"  aad 
tbe  wa?  to  **  do  things  **  before  and  after  engagemsit ;  tbe  way  to  naaka 
yoaxsejf  agreeable  during  an  engagement;  the  way  Ixideamaidi  and 
groomsmen  should  dress  and  perform  their  duties ;  the  way  yom  sbooM 
act  and  the  thin^  yoti  should  do  at  a  wedding  and  wedding  receptions; 
bebarior  in  the  bridal  chamber ;  the  way  to  make  wife  ajad  husband 
*'  reaily  **  happy.  This  is  just  the  book  that  has  k>ng  been  needed.  It 
tttUs  the  truth  in  plain,  honest  words,  revealing  knowledge  that  every, 
body  ought  to  know  upon  subjects  of  vital  importance  to  s^.  Erery 
young  woman  and  every  yoang  man  contemplating  matrimony  tl^cnki 
secure  this  b^ok  ard  learn  for  themselves  what  their  parents  in  Baay 
cases  have  nej^'^^^^  to  tell  them.  Every  mairied  man  or  woman*  every 
widow  or  wicov«jr,  youAg  or  old,  can  learn  a  great  deal  by  studying  tlus 
book  that  they  have  never  dreamed  of.  The  old  saying  •*  Never  too  old 
to  learn  "  is  particularly  true  in  this  study  of  Nature,  or,  ia  other  words, 
**  Lore,  Courtship  and  Marriage,**  by  a  woman  of  the  world — one  ^o 
has  been  "  throu]^  the  mill,"  as  it  were,  and  knovirs  what  the  is  taMcng 
aboHt,  and  in  this  book  gives  joa  the  full  beivejit  of  her  many  jpearE  ' 
Bxperier>ce. 

In  r  '  ^o  the  above  there  is  a  mart  brilliant  etStorial  entitled 

•''Rte  I.  :rce  Question '* ;  also  an  article  giving  statistict,  djtf», 

3tc^  cntitk:;  '  /  ';  /rning  Gronrth  of  the  Divorce  Evil,"  by  the  weT? 
Senown  writer,  i:c7.  Thotaas  B.  Gregory;  and,  lastly,  an  editorial  enti 
tied  **  V/onw&n's  Di^iity,**  whkh  should  be  read  by  e^mtj  woman  In  tha 
^•intry. 

If  tbe  ycnrcg  people  of  thte  conntry  would  read  wp  and  stndy  efies* 
eerknia  subjects  before  marriage  the  now-pop>nlar  divorce  would  soon 
WK>me  a  thing  of  the  past.  Remember,  from  some  one  Rttle  thing  in 
^k)s  book  you  may  be  spared  a  life  of  misery,  and,  cm  the  other  h 
^foa  may  get  some  little  soggestton  that,  hy  foUowing  ak)og  the  , 
$aigge^t&l,  TVXM^  lead  you  to  the  reahn^  of  everlastiag  happecesa.  Sv 
smously  spefkking,  can  you  afford  to  be  without  this  v^uable  new  bool: 
mihen  you  can  hare  It  delivered  right  to  your  bomei,ia  a  piain  virxjppet^ 
ImuS  cemts  ?  To-day  n  tko  time  to  send  Sor  it— do  Jt  ft»wu 

.^ziT  of  tbe  above  l>ookB  yrUi  be  aca^ty  maiL  pniHg^M, 

AE©RESS  ALL  ORDERS  TO 

liAX  SnSW  &  CO.,  508  S.  State  St,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


^  ^^Y[      wgai  is  ni^ 
iwtTjAL         iiiiiia 


'E  have  ft  on  a  POST  CARD.  Ever  notice 
how  it  pleases  anyone  to  receive  their 
name  on  a  post  card?  These  cards  are  beauti- 
fully embellished  with  floral  designs,  rich  m 
coloring.  Some  people  send  a  letter  post  card 
to  tteir  friends  each  day,  until  they  spell  a 
name,  it  is  the  latest  fad  all  over  the  country. 
We  have  every  woman^s  name  and  letters  of 
the  alphabet  in  s^Dclc.  They  are  the  best  name 
and  letter  series  in  America,  Order  in  E  Series, 
and  write  plainly  what  you  want.  We  also  have 
the  same  cards,  names  and  letters,  tinseled  in  gold 
or  silver,  they  are  beautiful  and  o-'  ^^^tive. 
Order  from  your  bookseller,  or  we  will  Jiem 

to  j€ik  in  sealed  envelope  on  receipt  of  piice« 

S  for  S  centSe    2S  cents  dozen* 
Tingled  S  cents  each. 

^^  Cw*  Out  ae4  Unit  Thin  to  tliw 


»?*s6te*fc'  •▼3"»«*;i  •"■- ' 


'*i  ii  tna. 


HI      iM  im    I. ^       -rammim 


OUSI  GREAT  TRIGK  BOOKS ! 


150  NEW  GABD.TBZGKS 

By  HOWARD  THURSTON,  th»  M*n  41t^!  r,'v.«;K*<l 
Hermsna.      PRtCE.  25  CENTS. 

frcT'Jt  fk.rifl  b»^k  hftnd  ppJm  wit! 


seem  ': 


»><y  li4^«A 


!n  h&ndsome  colored  oovery  Pr^<^, ^ ?.PJ^J!?J^J^il£!?P.y!j^.^:y;^-^- 


■■H>«naaafMM<nMi 


TRICKS    WITH     COIWS; 


SH_     «.;  ■3.s«.;'">.i'-    .1..   ;• 
^.^<J"■'■.'.f 


SON 


oius,  _ii 


i^z^u:l  i>.T.i<'Isomeoolcre<J.  ^  ^- -.  — - 


1  en-  ••> 


•i  30 

pro* 


BBM«««««I 


m  WM  im 

or,  Fortune  TeHing  by  Cards 


iFGRiyNETECLER 
pmCA 


TiiQ  secret  of  the  Mafvelotss  srtof  tel£- 
ing  the  Past,  Present  and  Future  by  the 
use  of  ordinary  playing  cards ;  also^  the 
full  and  direct  interpr'^tatioos  of  all  dreams 
and  their  lucky  numbers. 

Price  25  cents,  postpaid. 


NEW  EDITION  JUST  OUT 

Qypsy  Dream  Book  and  Fortune  Teller 

Trith  IjQcky  Numbers  and  Napoleoa*s  Oracalura. 

CONTENTS,       ' 


To  see  a  fa'are  BusbaDd. 

To  knoTV  whether  a  "womaa  vill 

have  the  man  she  "vrishes. 
Tlie  \eay  to  baiHe  your  enemies. 
Love  letters. 
To  discover  st.  thief  by  sieve  wad 

shears. 
Kow  to  make  a  dumb  cake. 

concerning  children 
_  :  .1  gxiy  day. 
A  magic  rinjy. 
io    kno-w    ■vrhat    fortune    your 

future  barJjQiid  will  have. 
The  tbrer: 
A  bridf:  c 


Signs  to  choose  good  husbands 

and  "wives. 
To  tell  whether  a  pregnant,  wo- 
man will  have  a  girl  or  boy. 
A  magic  laurel. 
To  know  if  any  one  shall  enjoy 

their  love  or  not. 
To  know  how  spon  a  person  will 

be  married. 
Xx>ve    presents    and    witching 

spells. 
To  find  out  the  two  first  letters 

of  a  future  wife  or  busband'a 

xiame,  etc.,  etc 


Price  only  15  cents,  postpaid. 


THE  COMPLETE  LETTER  WRITER 

Irjstructof  in  Punctuation  and  Style 

Letters  on  business*  comprising  all  events  that  occur  every  day. 
.  Social  letters  lor  ladies  and  gentlemen.     Up-to-date  and  reli^^t.^ 

Price  25  cents,  postpaid. 


ADDRESS  ALL  ORDERS  TO 
MAX  STEIN  &  CO..  508  S.  STATE  ST.,  CHICAGO,  %%JU 


ovrf 


'I  or  iii>- 
y  denctn- 
aod   ni>e 


$1.00  Book  for  Only  25  cents 

6th  and  7th  BOOKS  OF  MOSES 

Translated    under    our    personal    superyision    into    the    Enr!t»h    Ifim 
gaa^,  and  published  by  us  for  the  first  time.     Witi  e> 
One    Hundred    and    Twenty-Five    Seals,    Signs,    Emblc 

Moses,    Aaron,    Israelites,     i 
their    astonishing    roagical    £ 
eluding  the  period  of  time  c.    . 
and  New  Testaments.       This  y> 
lation  is  of  great  !mpnTt?.r.ce  •to 
Deist,    Jews   or   Gt 
inan  Catholic,   and 
•  inatiom.     The  extriitis    ii<.  u;    ^^.■. 
Mosaic    Books    of    the    Talmud    and    Cabala 
sre    invaluable.     This    bi-M.k    ..''•vs    tue    uae    cf 
the  Psalms  for  the  bo; 
the  Eminent  translator,  '•. 

the   great  law   giver   of_  israei,  -t 

five  books  of  Holy  Writ.     Thes  ./ 

known  as  the  Five  Books  o*^   "^ '  > 

lieved,   and  known  to  com:»  vt 

there   were   two   more   bcok;_  a. 

known    as    the    Sixth    and    beveiuh    BooUs   oi 
Moses.     To   these  we   wish  to   draw  your  at- 
tention.    Writing,    manuscripts,    etc.,    of    preo" 
icus    worth    have    existed    for    ajres    pa3t    that 
could  be  traced  to  the  time  of  Moses,  but  few 
of  these  have  been  published,  except  in  small 
fragments.     This  is  accountca  for  By  the  fact 
that  the   hi,Th   ^rl-^ts,  clergy,  and   heads  of  vari- 
pus     reu&:c"r.j     b:  :u.s     were     unwilling    that     the 
people  should  be  given  those  deeper  mysteries,  be- 
ing fearful  of  losing  their  hold  on  them.  ^   Another 
reason  is  that  it  was  feared  the  information  would 
be  ■»  used    for    unlawful    purposes.     It    is    scarcely 
possible   that   Moses  confined   his  literature  to  the 
first  five  books  of  the  Bible,  if  we  take  into  con- 
federation   the    lenf^thened   period   of    his   life   and 
ingcs  of  his  associaticn.     We  find  in  Acts  7:23 
t   Moses  was  learned  in  wisdom  of  the   Egyp- 
liS   until    his    fortieth   year.     He   acquired    dur- 
his  residence  at   the   Court  of  Pharoah  many 
'.•ptian    arts    in    his    constant    intercourse    with 
kuned  men.     He  became  adept  in   these  magical 
arts  practiced  by  them.     We  find  in  Exodus  7:11 
Moses  cast   his   rod   before   the   Kinj:,   which   b»- 
came  *  sepent,    Pharaoh  sent   for   his  magicians* 
rfho  tttso   cast   down  their   rods,   which,   by  their 
eacbantmcnts,  also  became  serpents.     Few  persons  1»r«  not  setae  belief  2a 
these  strange  and  oftentimes  unexplained  influences  thrit  ?ccm  to  surround 
us  through  life  for  good  or  evi>  and  it  is  honestiv  that  the  study 

cf  this  work,  the  Sixth  end  Seventh  Books  of  M.  be  a  Kouree  of 

1  and  u  I  win 

—risfuage  w...   .  -.ly   be 

which  were  only  circulated 

;ces. 


s«  and  prosperity  to  millions.     The 
V  will  foster  superstition,   but  the  e 
•e   that  the   translation   into  >'—    ^■ 
tnuic  ser^'icrable  than  all  pre-nm; 

in  abstract   form,  and  sold  at  e..  

These    engr.-ivings   are    exact    copies   of    those   by   the   Ifraelitet   and 
Egyptians  to  accomplish  the  designs  for  (rood  or  erfl.  and  are  sepzratelr 
expla»n<ed.     Ibis  book   b.'^s   beconv;  enormously  popular.     Beware  «f  baiiv 
kxigs.     Volumes   I   and   II   bound   together   in   one   Teltraie 
Price,   25   cents   per   crnv.    Roctml  ^  ^mrtr  cover.  Cioih  AAv*f  $t. 

S      We  also  carry  f  the  •;  7  book 

f  Moses,   8th  and.  .   bo<ilc  -  boari 

i^ver  U   |SU>0   pec   iJcwis    Ccr   AU    Turee    Hooks,   %S.y 
M«PC  STEIN  8  COu,  900  ^  STATE  8T*,  Qiri 


m  BIG  lOM!  m  181®  KIM!  IE  ff^^' 

Y©ia  V/m  L^i!?rfs-5  Yo«  V/Ul  Ve!l» 
Yoce  WIK  Screen  at 


TiM  World's  Champion 
Funny  Book* 

"""  MBiv.  fmm 

It  eradicates  v/rrnldes,  banishes  care,  and  by  its  laugfoteiv 
ojopelliRg  mirth  and  irresistible  feumor  rejuTenetes  the  whoJe 
K)^.    Whether  yoa  are  a  bashful  man  or  not,  yoa  should  read 

TUB  BLUNDERS  OF  A  BASHFUL  MAN. 

^n  this  ecreamingly  funny  vohinio  the  reader  fo5k>ws  with  rapt 
attention  and  hilarjofua  delight,  the  mishaps,  niortificatious, 
confusions,  and  agonizing  mental  and  physical  distresses  of  a 
8elf-conscio«s,  hypei^sensitive,  appsHingly  bashful  young  man, : 
!n  a  succession  of  astounding'  sxicidents,  and  ludicrous  predica- 
.ents^  that  convnise  the  reader  with  cjrctonic  laughter,  causing 
r.im  to  hold  both  sides  for  ie&7  of  exploding  from  an  excess  of 
iiproarioas  merriment, 

All  records  beaten  sts  a  fan-maker,  sib-tiekler,  and  laugh- 
■     l:er.    This  marvellous  volume  of  merrimerst  proves  meian- 
r-:  impostor,  and  jjrixi  care  a  joke.    With  joyous  gales  of 
dssipates  glocm  and  banishes  trouble. 

ANT  ST  I     YOU  CANNOT  I  lUmJT  ITI 

'ihRn  D^iigs!    Better  Thau  VajidevMleJ 
A  WMOLE  CIRCUS  IN  ITSELF  2 
.rse,   th©   Piacsp    thQ  Qpp^'tunity   is   ffer-^., 

BUY   IT   NOW! 

mJL'INDSRS  0P  A  BASMFU?^  HAN  contahis  170 
as  of  reading  matter,  illustrated,  is  beupd  in  heavy 


c© 


ADDRESS  ALL  ORDERS  TO 

MAX  STEIK  &.  CO.,  508  S.  State  St.,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


Detective  Series 


A  ThoTUiaiid  Ttsmcn  S«wasd. .  w-k .  ,..-yr. « Oaborsaa 

The  Black  ZSar ,.  •«^..  ..•.•^. .•  ...▲.Conan Doyle 

The  Murder  in  the  Oollj «.,.•.....«.,.  .£l.  Coaan  Doyle 

The  Mystery  of  Sassassa  Vallegr .A.  CosiAn  Doyle 

That  She  Devil A.  Ooaan  Doyle 

Sherlock  Holmee  Outwitted  hy  a  Woman. .  .A.  Oonan  Doyle 

Sherlock  Hotmes,  the  Detective A.  Conau  Doyle 

Mata  Hari,  the  Kaiser's  Female  Spy« 

The  Seeret  of  the  Studio. 

9«lzac'8  Mysteeey  Stories. 

Struck  Down. 

The  Dag-g-er  WUh  the  Opal  EUt. 

Behind  Prison  Walls. 

The  Spy  of  the  Air. 

An  International  Tragedy Detective  Wooldrid^e 

Tricks  and  Traps.    Among*  Oonfldenoe 

Men   Detective  Wooldxldg'e 

The  "Life  of  Crime.    In  and  Oat  of 

Prison Detective  'Wooidridg'e 

Startling-  Police  Mysteries Detective  Wooldridge 

Ferreting  Out  the  Woman  Orafters. . .  .Detective  Wooidridg'e 
Bunting  Down  the  "Oet-Blch-Qniek^ 

Grafters Detective  Wooldrldge 

The  Conspiracy.  Grafters  of  America.  .Detective  Wooidridg'e 

Fzposing-  the  Gamblers Detective  Wooldrldge 

Jack,  the  Sailor. 

The  Bed-Headed/  Z^eague. A.CenanDoyle 

A  Mysterious  Crime. 


Tho  thrilling  police  experiences  of  Clifton  R.  Woold- 
rldge, America's  Sherlock  Holmes,  should  be  read  by 
everyone  who  wishes  to  avoid  the  traps  set  by  ji^rafters. 
They  are  true  stories  by  a  real  detective  who  ''  ith 

real  crimiuals.    Ail  of  his  books  are  profusely  ii  d, 

very  interesting,  entertaining,  aud  worth  your  time  to 
read. 

The  above  books  are  on  sale  at  all  book  stores. 

will  bo  sent  postpaid  upon  receipt  of  25c  each, 


MAX  STEIN  PUBLISHING  HOUSE 

508  S.  State  Street  Chicago,  111. 


Pioneer,  Cowboy,   Indian, 
and  Mexican  Border  Novels 

Panclio  ''TSlla,  T^rrbr  of  Meacico. 

Tlie  ToTrngr  Scouts,    A  narrative  of  tli«  early  pioneers. 

The  Voung-  Fiozxeers,  or  The  Kermlt  of  tlie  Cavern. 

The  Isisurgezit  CMefy  or  The  Battle  of  the  Bandits. 

Texas  Border  Bifles,  or  Jagoiar,  the  White  Chief. 

Fighting*  the  Aedsl^ins  in  Scnth  America. 

The  Guide  of  the  Uiesert,  ox  The  Bloody  Thrall. 

The  Smug'g'lcr  Hero. 

The  Demon  Biders  of  So3&ora» 

The  Tiffer  ^ayer,  or  The  Fcrestv  of  Sonora. 

The  Gold  Seekers,  or  Fathfinders  on  Americfoi  Flains. 

The  7ndla?a  Chief,  or  The  Bebel  Volunteers. 

The  Pirates  of  the  Frairies,  oc  Fighting'  for  Texas. 

The  Trappers  of  Arkansas. 

Westward  Eol  or  The  March  of  the  Adventurers. 

A  Mystery  of  the  Sonor^  Seserts. 

The  Treasure  of  Fearls. 

The  Mesican  ISehel  Chief, 

The  Mexican  G-uerilleros  iSevolt. 

The  Trail  Hunter  of  the  West, 

The  Fearl  of  the  Andes. 

The  Freebooters?,  or  Fig'hting'  With  the  Texas  Sanders. 

The  Flyinir  Hox&einan. 

The  Whit©  Scalper. 

The  Trapper's  I>&,VL^lxtev. 

Tragfedies  of  the  Flains,  or  A  Treacherous  SSaavaore. 

The  Prairie  Flower, 

The  Indian  Scout. 

Brig-ht  Bye,  the  Sero  of  the  Forest, 

The  Hee  Hunter. 

@toneheart,  the  Sure-Shot. 

The  Queen  of  the  Savannah. 

Tlie  Eed  Biver  Half-Breed- 

The  Fatagronian  Invasion. 

The  2^ast  of  the  Aucas. 

The  Spaniard's  B^eveng^e. 

The  Buccaneer  Chief. 

The  Border  Bloodhound. 

Strong-hand,  Chief  of  Scouts. 

Wild  Ziifo  in  African  Jung-les. 

The  History  of  an  African  Slave. 

These  remarkable  narratives  of  personal  daring",  endur- 
ance, and  self-possession,  present  wider  experiences  of  life, 
manners  and  customs  on  the  prairie  and  in  the  wigwam  than 
can  be  found  in  tbe  •whole  range  of  the  literature  ot 
adventures. 

All  Indian  storie»  in  this  series  are  written  by  the 
world's  greatest  Indian  and  Border  story  writer,  Gustavo 
Aimard.     Strictly  moral  and  educational. 

The  above  books  are  on  sale  at  all  book  stores. 

Samples  will  be  sent  postpaid  upon  receipt  of  25c  each; 
0  for  $1.00. 

Edited  and  published  by 
MAX  »TBIN,   508    S,   State  St,   Chicago,   HI. 


?■ 


•^        (ft  rrri  ^ 

I     i     r-^  >|Ja]v  t^^:ua         *     Kn     ■    .^H*^       .^^-wrji^      .^•rZTmu  r  <  /< 


"3  PopnlsL 

I  tacENts 


TJiis  J9  a  b«<?k  for  all  classes.    There's  no  tcllinff  wl»cn 
:i  Eiay  bi3  0<ili<?d  «j>on  to  propose  a  ton*<t.  To  t>c  unprepared 
r^^  iins  embariUKscacut.    Send  for  this  book  aud  mciXK>ri«« 
a  ffew. 

B<*low  ws  print  a  few  samples  of  ^what 
tiiij  book  contains 


Here's  to  tbc  jsrirls  of  the  ATr.^^rican  shore 

I  love  but  one,  I  lov  • 
Since  p!»e'8  not  here  t  r  part, 

111  driuk  her  siiare  v»  il,  i  >-  ■  ^  .ny  heart. 

Then  here's  to  the  jolly  Bachelor's  life 
And  uiay  ho  live  till  ho  takes  a  wifo. 

By  Mail*  Postpaid*  tO  cenfis 


Fiiaer 

DKAW  P€)KER 


^  '■^l* 


a^fl  DecepSoQs  PracSiced  by 
jassblers  wttb  Cards 


e&AwrMicK 


rea4 


MAX  STEIN  c  .00  S.  8T  JAGQ,  ILL. 


I 


M  wasATiss  OF  USE  sm^owmM  mss  os^ 


stand  it  txom.  begin* 


the  St^esl    ?^ 

teJauea.    at  h 

aad  easily  i,. 

terra?  aird   pLroi-u,   ha/fc  iidenr* 

itously  &TOid8d.wij»3re  ^■-^■'* 

aod  everftl- 

madosopb 
of  -----    -• 

ger: 


arid  tiai. 


;  wifch  htmdreds  dt.  'One  llicistratioyfS  and  explana* 
for  \7ill  proye  &  perfect  i»liie  of  iijsGrtictiQn  jtor  tiie 

Two  Ii-.-.-;.; .^   voi;i.ne3,  600  t?a^es.  tieariy  51)0  lUuetrafeicsnSi pri|xt€d  dSi  i9 
superior  qoaiity  of  paper  from  aevT  iarj^e  type. 
Prgc0.;i^  VolSo.cSpth&tainng^... .^ .v. $2.00 

Stes^Vditnae9.PArtl»  cloth..... ...^.....^ 1.00 

«•  •<        Partit.clotti f.OO 

SEN!>  FOR  CGWIPLEie  HXUSTBATED  CATAtOGUS  FRSS 
MAX  STCIJN-a:  CO..  508S,  STATE  ST,;  CHICAGO  IU» 


^  '<U  mJ  Ji 


P06T  Card  A5r7  A  PEARS  '  7«i9Ane'Po^TCAfioroL«f^ 


At  the  Post  Card;  the  whole  cotmtiy  is  latigh- 
ing  about.  It  looks  Vke  a  J&poJisse  x  z^ 
uata  you  fold  the  card,  and  then  it's  so  diner- 
ent;  it's^  an  actual  surprise  to. eveiyone*  It  is 
certainly  one  of  the  best  novselty  post  cards 
ever  published-  Printed  in  tw'o  colors  on  card-*. 
board-    Here's  a  part  list  of  ihe  subjects.. 


Be  Good 

Ask  Me 

Get  Busy  and  Wr& 

Yours  as  B  4   . 

My  Dearest 


Best  Wishes?' 
Not  Yet  But  SooQ 
It's  Up  to  You 
I  Am  Coming 
Love  to  You 
Loving  Kid 


Kiss  Me 

Buy  them  froiii  your  dealer  or  we 
them  postpaid  in  envelope  on  receipt 
2  for  5c  or  25c  a  dozen. 


^^Cut  O^t  and  Mfatt  Ttito  4«  tTa. 


THE  STUV4  CQ^  340:1)44  Stita  9t,  Cfikssoi  tSU        EaetoMd. 

V't  lHat^  ■»       L.  I     ■         II  I  fcM.I    IW.,M«IIMI.I     ai  IWIl' 


OVEE  SQfigMtO  SOLD 
0r  ELUOTT  ESOOKES,  AmtmOmd  W  O^mt  WeII4Ciiown  Exs»ortt 

lUsrise*!  and  En^rsrsd  N«w  E^ldon^Tlie  lavaeat  and  most  ^r«ctic«S 

work XKibtst&etL    Vsoi  hy  aS  opta.daie  aiilom»!>ae  sdiooU m» 

toeir  «v«r75r(i«y  tezt<book.  ever   7Sd  page*  aiod 

cnrer  SS9  iOostraUeaa.  FoH  Leatkar  Ump,  Round 

CorAsn»Aed£iise«.   Pric«.$2.00* 

At  tlis.  present  timeoenrly  all  astombMIe 
t/Diabiea  or  lirezikdowns  may,  in  almost 
eirery  cc»«,  be  traced  to  the  lack  cC  knowl- 
odgecr  carelscsne98  of  the  owner  or  opera* 
tor  of  tha  car,  catijer  than  to  the  car  itself. 

The  a^tomobila  hemd  book  is  a  vsrork  at 
P'-BStlcal  inicrEiaticii  for  the  n&a  of  ownera, 
09SSSdQC9  and  autcmobjl«  mechacics.  giif^ 
inz  iuM  9Md  coacise  iaformation  on  aU 
^aGStiooB  r&itftmg  to  ths  oon^truction,  sars 
Bad  apexation  of  assoiine  aod  electric  auto- 
BBobiles.  including  road  troubles,  motor 
troubles,  caurbureter  trotibles,  igaitioa 
troubles,  battery  troubles,  clutch  troub!os« 
Btarttag  troablos.  With  numsrccs  tableau 
ttseful  ruJo«  and  formtilaB,  wiring  dia^rasss 
j^ai  ove>rU29inustrations. 

Spacial  efforts  hava  been  ptri  forth  to 
treat  the  Bubjects  of  ignition,  and  igni- 
tion davicas,  in  a  manner  beiitting  their 
importaaoa.  A  larpSj,  section  has  beea 
devoted  to  these  subjects,  including  bat- 

riea,  priauary  aad  secondarv,  njagnetos, 
,  .  fakct  cdl  devices  used  in  connection  witk 

the  produ  i  spark.    Power  t/aasmission  is  thoroughly  discaseod, 

»ad  the  vi  -  •  cf  tranamfttiag  the  power  froia  the  motar  to  tiie 

driving  a'.  '  and  compared. 

The  r^^  >.ork  for  a*aw  lainotes-whcn  troubles  ocenr,  wfU 

joftan  net  .  money,  aad  worry,  but  give  greater  confidence 

in  the  c?.y.  -^  its  go'mg  ^vudities  en  tha  road,  wbsa  pcooerlj^ 

atxd  tntaiia^w;.*.~v  <^':4.i  ^-u  «or. 

A  WORD  TO  THE  WISE 

The  ttess  fe  at  hand  wbe&  aay  perflCH  caring  for  and  opers^nsr  auf 
triad  of  se ; .'  vehiolar  in  a  pnhlic  or  private  capacity,  wiii  have  to 

undergo  ;  tion  befoi«e  astate  board  of  examiners  and  secure 

a  license  '  .  -^.a  collect  their  salary  or  sret  employment. 

AlrecV  :rk  Stata  has  enacted  suah  a  law  aad  before  long,  vrilb 

a  positive  ^v-?ry  state  ia  the  Onion  tviU  pass  such  an  ordinanco 

for  the  procic  ■■.  jtcd  property. 

Rensmh'  a  brand  n&w  book  from  cover  to  cover,  lust  firom 

4he  press — Nt^..  .  ...c^s — and  jmist  not  be  oonfound«d<witk  anyfoeoiKflC 

Sd&tioas  of  (his  popular  worib. 

Sant  prepaid  to  axiy  aA&eM  tupoia  *feceipt  cf  tn«9 
WiKSrmH  fk  COm  SOS  S.STA^&ST^.  OHlCAGOJUii* 


To  Amuse  and  Entertain 

OVERS*  BUDGET 

.\i  COUECnON  OF  PARIOR  HAGICmCKS  WITH  CAR1»S,  TOASTS.  FORTDRI 
iLLING.  R'NNY  READINGS.  FURTATIONS.  AMUSING  CXPEMIRNTS.  MOKEY 
HAIONG  SECREl^.  JOKES.  RIDDLES.  CONUNDRUMS.  PARLOR  AAHJ9B- 
UENTS.  PUZZLES.  PROBLEaiS.  PARLOR  GAINES.  ETC 

EVEBYTHING  M£NnONi3>  iOi  TBMS  PAGE  ONLY  10  CQ9T8 


isvm   ^»LaA«  • 


MMMN 


LOVERS'  B0D6ET 

M  WRHMK  «M>  «/1tJSfnC<rT 


raecneciTS- 

mmmmmmmmmmmt 


SS9  New  Jokes,  ConimdmiiiB  and  RlMlet. 

Bright,  Puzzling,  Genuine  Rib-tickJer»-    Yois 
will  laugh  till  you  ache. 

21  Puzies  and  PreUeiBS.  Real  stickers.  Wiil 
keep  you  gmessing. 

I  Fortmie  Telling  Tablet    Aa  used  by  tbo 
EjTPtian  Astrologers 

1  New  Gypsy  Ferloae  TcGer,  Tell  jrour  own 
fortunes.  So  simple  a  child  can  easily  learn  it 
52  HwMy  Uaklas  Secrets.  How  ta  make  ail 
kinda  of  Soap,  Ink,  Paint,  Glue,  Varnish,  Boot, 
Shoe  and  Furniture  Polish,  Mucilage,  Hair 
Oil,  Hair  Dye,  Washing,  Baking  and  Too& 
Powder,  etc 

40AaiiiBtciBxpcrinen!sf]iBas!e.  Entertain- 
ing. Will  astonish  your  friends.  To  MeU 
Lead  in  a  Piece  of  Paper.  Light  produced  by 
Sufar.  Artiflcial  LigbtniB^  To  Make  Water 
Freeze  by  the  Fir*,  etc 
68  Venes  la  Comic  PeeSry.  Will  drive  away 
^^    ,  theblaeg.    Hot  stuff. 

7  Parlor  Games.   An  EvenJng'e  Entertaiximent  for  Yoang  and  Old- 
II  Parlor  Pasttmes.  Majric  Agre  Table,    fiveoiiie  Amuseuient  Game,  etc 
"Will  kftep  a  coQpany  in  a  continuoua  lao^h. 

•44  FUrtations.   Postage  Stamp.  Hankett^hief,  PendL  Parasol,  Whip.  Hat 
Fan,  Glove,  Cisar  and  Eye  Flirtatioa.  How  to  Kiss  a  Lady,  INJonioe  tablo 
Signaling.    Window  SignaUoff,    Lorer's  Tehegraph. 
.J  Wonderfnl  Fortaae  Tmm  Secrets.    By  the  Grounds  of  a  Tea  or  Coll^ 
Cnp.  WithDominc  fttie  Month,  Augury  by  Dice.  Charactes 

by  the  Month-  Car.  1  SuperatillofME.   How  to  Jud«9  Any  Ooeb 

Character  07  Thdr  i*  cigei'  :si.ns, 
,l$F<atB  In  Parlor  BE&gie.  How  to  pat  an  Bnr  Into  a  Bottle.  Tb  make  Water 
Rise  from  a  Saucer  iiito  a  Glass.   To  Bring  a  Peroon  Down  Upon  a  Feather. 
To  Hold  a  Giads  of  Water  Upside  Down  without  Spiilioc   'Do  Tell  Um 
Number  any  Person  Thinks  ot   WondfrfuJ  Hat,  etc 

10  Fanny  Seadlnsa.  Create  roars  of  laughter.  "Boy  Le0t**  iBemale 
Stratagem.**  "Riale8lbrLov«Makl»g.»*^*A  Dreadful  Acddenf*  **Rul^ 
tor  Bummers."  "A  Deceiving  Letter. *•  •'Hatband's  Commandinents.'* 
**Wif«'s  Commandments,"   **SlightHints.'»   ^Office  Rules.  ' 

tSTTvcksuUaCwnls.  IT?©  Slipped  Card.  Tb^  N  ■'  .1  rirl.  Tn  Onp«4 
S  nis  Chosen  at  Random.    The  Recru:  ; 

i  t>e  Noted.    Ihc  Triple  Dcai.    T^e  1 

^,'x.'-cr  of  Points  on  Three  Unaeen  Cards.  Witard  s  i^aek  of  Cards,  CanJa 
Re  voa  led  by  the  Loosing  Glass.  Circle  of  14  Cards.  Of  Two  Rows  of  Cardk 
to  TcU  Which  One  Has  been  Toucked.  Card  Named  WlttUKifc  fidng  Seeoi 
Various  other  Tricks  with  Cards. 

^    71  TOASTS  Heveanafenrwnplet      43CPITAPBS 

8ere'9  to  one  and  ooty  osm^  Dont  wory  abmit  the  (bture, 

^Aad  may  tJwt  one  >te  sJwi,  Tbe  present ;«-  1 1 1  r  K<>a  ba#tL 

Who  loves  hut  one  and  only  one*  The  future  ^  •  present 

And  02&y  tln^t  one  be  me .  And  the  pi  t  soon  beplA 

.AXI.  VOB  10  CENTS,  POSTI>Aii» 
MAX  ^TBIN  &  00.,  800  8.  STATE  ST.,  CHICAGO,  I  LIU 


USX  Ftm  ORftfcs  ^moNS'iPYou  miKTTHe  eesr^ 


HOW  TO  TELL  FOBTUNES  BY  CAROli 

By  Madam  Zanclg.  Fully  illusferated.  Thia !«» 
maaaal  has  been  written  to  give  amtisezneBt,  soA 
It  describes  the  methods  that  are  commonly  naeH 
by  Gypsies  and  others  when  tlioy"  read  yonr  for 
ttme."  Many  bare  witnessed  a  great  number  ofe 
SQOst  wcMQderful  and  useful  conciusums  which  hay« 
boMi  produced  by  this  science,  and  many  fator* 
events  have  been  foretold.  Any  one  can  teiii  th» 
present,  yast  and  future  by  following  these  atm^ 
tnstructious.    1£0  pc^gee,  50  ilhutratioODS. 

Paper  CovefS... •• »..••..«• 28  Centt 


NATIONAL  POUCY  PLAYER'S  6t»DE 
AND  DREAM  BOOK. 

This  litMe  volume  is  prtcekss  to  those  who  pfo^ 
the  lottery  or  policy.  It  contains  a  complete  iist 
of  dreams,  arranged  aljAtebetically,  with  their 
lucky  niimbera;  Flaying  Oards.  their  numbers; 
Days  ot  Week  and  Month,  with  siumbers;  Holi- 
days, Uniuoinr  Days,  Lucky  Days.  Birthdays,  Ccan» 
tdnatioQ  Tables,  etc. ;  Rules  how  to  sis  certain  how 
much  any  amount  of  money  will  bring  oa  any 
given  row  of  numbeas,  ete^  etc.   298  pages. 

Paper  Conr^.— ...^.r 25  OeaH 

Clelb,  l,.,..^ 60  CenU 


GiPSY  I'-ZITCHES  FORTUNE  TELLING  CABDS^ 


By  Madame  Lo  ITormand.  (Gipsy  Witdfi,)   MmBtk 

Le  iN'ormaud  has  laf  t  behind  such  a  repuitatkm,  tJif 
tnemory  of  so  unusual  a  talent,  that  we  believe  Wf 
shall  do  a  favor  to  the  adnurers  of  her  system,  by  pub» 
Hshing  the  cajrds  which  were  found  after  her  death 
They  *ire  the  same  cards  with  which  she  prophesied  tc 
NapQiecE  L  his  futore  greatness,  and.  th-e  downfall  ot 
maay  princes  and  greet  me<a  of  B^rance.  Bach  pach 
oontaiag  fifty- two  nne  illustrated  cards,  lithographed 
in  colors,  with  insiiription  foretelling  your  pa«t,  pre* 
.  ent  and  future.  Oan  also  be  used  for  playiag  any  oar4 
game.   Full  sUrections  with  each  pack. 

Price  pe?  package  of  S2  cards 
fn  neat  case 60  cents 


jftaxy  book  In  this  listsent  postpaid  to  any  address  upon  reoeipiof  prtflt^ 

Complete  Catalogue  sent  freot 

MAJ(  STEIN  ft  CO:,  SSOaS  STATIC  S7»  CMlCAffiO  SMU 


iThe  Star       Book  Library 

Kn  I  Tlio  C^of  VlAifin  RAfttr  This  ifle«oUectlon.of  hundred!  of  clerrer 
no*  ■•  ine  Oiar  IViaaie  OOOK  rkidles  and  coiiUBdrumB.Ianiouslor  their 
elevemess.  Complote  aitswers  are  ^ivea  (or  «ach  one.  In  the  back  of  the  book 
vUlalso  be  foond  a  cumber  of  catca  problems  tkat  will  prove  stumbling  blvcioi 
for  the  unwary.  Here  Is  material  for  a  thousand  sTenlngB*  entertainment.  The 
person,  be  he  boy,  girl,  man  or  woman,  who  has  at  command  a  number  of  clever 
riddles,  conundrums  and  eatch  proplems  Uio  these,  is  fdways  a  welcome  goeet 
In  any  company,  and  the  material  furnished  In  thlci  book  will  keep  yon  sappUed 
wltk  a  constant  stream  of  fresh  ones  for  yecurs  to  c«xne.  Bound  In  hanaaonie 
ecarlet  cover8,.wiih  &i  large  pages. 

«0.  i5«  ine  Dtar  money  mSKer  gathored  special  contributed  articles  by 
hundreds  of  pooplo,  \v  ho,  by  their  own  experience  have  tested  and  tried  the 
plana  a&d  suggestions  offered  and  found  them  what  they  are  claimed  to  bo. 
shrewd,  clever  and  orlfirlnal  methods  of  making  money  ineparo  time  Lours  rlKht 
at  home.  Wo  luclade  in  tho  back  of  the  book  a  nnmE)eref  valuable  formulas, 
iTjcelpta  and  trade  secrets  that  »re  likewise  priceless  In  raluo.  61  largo  pages, 
set  in  new  elear  type,  ana  printed  cm  &ie<book  paper,  haiidsoiDe  scarlet  eovvca. 

Ko.a.  The  Star  CoHectfoB  of  Fammw  Songs.  ^?»?e*Sd\fbS^*c^: 

lected  THE  SONGS  OUR  MOTHEBS  SANG.  The  ENDUBINO  melodies  of 
America,  ttxe  ones  our  forefathevs  knew  and  loved— the  ones  oarchlkiren'a 
children  will  greet  with  eager  pleasure.  The  WOKDS  as  well  as  MTJSIO  for  each 
Boag.  Hera  are  a  few  of  tho  songs:  Home  Sweet  Home:  Blphland  Mary;  Dlo 
"Waclit  am  Bhein;  'Woodmau  Spare  That  Tree:  Maggie  by  My  SM(-v:  Donglas, 
I'ender  and  True:  Thon  You'll  Remember  Me:  Do  They  Ml?-^  "'  < 

wr  Wallaco  Blt'd;  Brln?  Back  My  Bonny;  Yankeo  Doodle;  1  ■> 

of  the  Deep;  America;  Good  Night  Ladles;  Maryland;  Dlxlci  ^.  .  •: 

Jaanlta;  In  tho  Gloaming;  Sweet  Afton;  KUlamey:  etc  etc.  It  i.«  wc: 

icosic  lor  ail  Amerix^a;  a  book  every  home  will  welcome  and  pre^ 

1^^    A    Tkjk  c^»«  Tn»  M<iirA«.    Therbest'  :  In  America,  with  •oor&i 

no.  4.  Tne  btar  loy  iYiaker.  pf  pj^ns  ■,  for  nmumg  aii  sorts  ox 

toys,  mIso  useful  Rs  v.i]\  tvi  omameiT'  liook  has  beeii 

worked  out  by  a  r  rut :  nl  boy  with  i  ;ilii8;  and  tho 

BOW'!'''    ■'    ■       "     '  I  (n  f)l:iir-,  !,   V    vr  1 '  I     r«>  ul 

and  u: 

Pantrx 

and  A 

MUli, 

Thla  t  ,  _      _  .  ' 

o£  oopyxiglii  iirawuigi*  dud  piclurca,  an.. i 

No.  S.  The  Star  Amatew  Et    '  aud  u.  ^  ^' 

have  bolnod  ns  tf»  make  this  bonk,  \  >f  ppecial 


^  etc^  etc 


^uy  orthoal>ovobooks,.10ceats,po  i  r  cboJoe  of  askf^ 

tbreo  {3>  books,  35  cents,  postpaid^  A(  len, 

MAX  STEiN  &  C0»,  500  S.  STATE  ST.,  CHICAGO,  ILU. 


mmiDMiBooi 


£am 


COMPLETE  F9RTI1E  mm 


'Vhe  ludl  and  cocrsct  nile&  ef  divina** 
tion  coccemhog  drecims  and  vieions,  tbe 
observance  and  application  of  talisme% 
charms  and  iiitaaafcalSons.  There  is  no  book 
equal  to  the  Compile  Gypsj  Dream  Book. 

Price  25  cents,  prepaid. 


or  Book  of  Fate 

Containing  ftartuce  telling  by  moles ;  Phy- 
siognomy by  the  Kajes  and  forms  of  the 
fece,  hair,  eyes,  etc;  Palmistry  or  Judg- 
ments drawn  from  the  hand  and  nail&of 
the  GoQete, 


Price  25  cents,  postpaid. 


NEW  EDITION 

f licM  Dream  M  M  Ciplete  lortie  Teller 

Containing  the  true  explanation  of  all  dresama  and  lucky  numbers 
that  belong  to  them  5  also  Fortune  Telling  by  Cards,  Dice,  Domi- 
noes, Moles,  Marks,  Scars,  or  othef  Signs  on  the  Skin ;  showing 
their  situation,  etc.,  etc.;  Judgmeate  drawn  from  the  Moon's  Age; 
Signs  of  Speedy  Marriage  and  good  success  attending  it  by  Sundry 
Signs,  also  their  numbers ;  Palmistry  or  Fortune  Telling  by  lines  Jn 
the  hand ;  Showing  the  various  judgments  drawn  from  the  hand  ( 
slso,  Finger  JS^aU  observations.     Price  15  cents,  postpaid. 


ADDRESS  ALL  ORDERS  TO 
MAX  STEIN  6»  CO..  508  S.  STATE  ST..  CHICAGO,  lUU 


'v.V>4i' 


YR   7TISA 


968786 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


